


War Crimes

by Sophia_Bee



Series: Game of Thrones [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Death, F/M, Intense, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: Brienne Tarth is the first woman to complete the training program to become a Navy Seal. Her first assignment in Afghanistan drops her into the middle of something more complicated than she’d ever expected.





	1. The Mad King

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to give warnings for each chapter best I can but in general, this is ugly stuff. Consider that death, violence and language will be part of the story in general. 
> 
> I was inspired to write this by a true story. And by the mentality that allows us to dehumanize others in the name of war. 
> 
> My beta, Leafeylocket, has worked with me for four years, and believes in me, even when I come up with crazy plot bunnies for characters that aren’t her OTP. Love you dearest.
> 
> I am shit with tags.

It’s hot. God damn fucking hot. 

The sun blazes down, scorching the already dry desert. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of Aery’s neck, tickling him but he doesn’t move. His eyes watch the landscape, bleak, desolate and stretching as far as he could see. 

_This fucking country. Full of terrorist assholes, wanting to fucking blow us up._

His finger strokes the trigger of his gun. He lies flat on the ground, almost invisible. Sand creeps under his fatigues. The sand never gets out. He’ll be finding sand for months. Sand when he’s back stateside, back to what everyone calls normal life. He’ll sit in the backyard of his unremarkable one story rambler, a beer dangling between his fingers, listening to the utter stupidity of the latest in politics, trying to look interested in what the red haired neighbor is saying about her damn brilliant kid, and there will still be sand. 

He hates this place. 

The Middle East. Cradle of humanity. More like a den of wasps waiting to sting you to death, a million small cuts inflicted and you don’t even realize you’re bleeding to death. It’s his job to stop every one. 

He sees movement on the horizon, a flicker of shadow in the brightness. Aerys squints and his eyes make out two figures in the distance. They are walking slowly, almost meandering, and he knows it’s a ploy. He’s seen it before: a woman casually looking at bolts of cloth, a man selling seasoned meat from a brazier by the roadside. Then the loud crack of an IED, the ringing in his ears, a familiar rush of adrenaline, the smell of blood and burning flesh. The screams. 

He can’t hear the screams anymore. They’ve become just another sound to him, part of the background noise. 

The figures in the distance grow slightly clearer and Aerys is starting to be able to make them out. One tall, the other one shorter. Something walks beside them: a goat or a mangy desert dog. He’s not sure. His finger strokes the trigger of his gun. He’s waiting, waiting for something. 

So much of Afghanistan is waiting. Waiting for the next assignment, for the next IED to explode, to lose the next soldier. Waiting to die. There was a time when Aerys would have found himself trembling, but that was long gone, slipped away somewhere years ago, and he’s not sure when all fear left him. 

All that is left is rage. 

The desert is silent, but it’s not. An insect buzzes in the distance. The sweat that had dripped down his hairline, down the side of his neck falls with a plop onto the rock he’s lying stretched across, staring down grin the ridge at the approaching figures. The sun blazes. He’s hot. Fucking hot. Drying up. Thirsty. His heart beats, a steady thump in his ears, and still his finger rests on the trigger, soft, an almost gentle caress. Waiting. Waiting. The figures grow closer and now Aerys can make them out. A man. Tall, gaunt, a long, ragged robe the same color as the sand around him. The animal, a goat. Aerys starts to hear the clanging of a bell. Next to the man, a boy. No. Not a boy. A boy who is almost a man, his limbs long and gangly, robes down to the middle of his calves. Aerys has seen this boy a million times, his soft brown eyes looking at him, hands reaching, asking for money or sweets; children running into the shadows just before the market is engulfed in flames or another block of houses explodes. His finger remains still on the trigger. 

The boy looks to be fourteen, maybe fifteen, just becoming a man. He looks about Viserys’ age, and for a moment Aerys thinks of his son, his face on the cracked screen of his laptop, holding up a hunting knife he had bought with his allowance, telling him he was going to be just like him. Aerys had smiled, and for a brief moment he felt something like fatherly love. It was a fleeting feeling. He was proud of his son, knew he would grow to be a great leader, but to actually feel something for him was rare. Aerys didn’t feel much of anything. He hadn’t for a long time now. 

The boy comes closer. Aerys watches him with careful eyes, noting how he walks, how his legs seem too long and too cumbersome. He knows this boy. This boy will grow to be a man. A man who will walk into a cafe, a market, sit down on a airplane. A man who will strap on a belt full of explosives in the name of his god, and yet more body parts will rain down in the name of a war that no one really knew why anyone was fighting anymore. 

He will become the enemy. 

Maybe they are on their way to the market. A father and son. Uncle and nephew. A village elder. The boy is coming from school, or from playing soccer across the desert sand, or from prayers. Their story doesn’t really matter. Not to Aerys. He narrows his eyes. His mouth is dry. 

Now. 

His finger pulls the trigger. 

One figure drops. Then the other. The goat startles. The bell around his neck clangs frantically. He won’t kill the goat. It did nothing wrong. Aerys stands up, silhouetted against the desert sky, standing tall in his sand colored fatigues, no longer invisible. He wipes his hands on his pants, slings his gun onto his back then walks back to the jeep he’d abandoned when he had stopped on the side of the road between somewhere and nowhere. His job was done. At least for that day.


	2. The Maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

Everyone wants to fuck her. She came here, to Afghanistan, to be the warrior she’d always wanted to be and instead it was the same endless story if her life. Ugly, gainly, broad and muscled, Brienne Tarth was still only a pair of breast and a cunt to the men around her. 

She’d known it would be like this, known she wouldn’t be taken seriously. She tries to blot out her father’s voice in her head: what did she expect, making the choices she’d made. 

Brienne grimaches, lifts another weight, squeezes her bicep tightly, keeping her movements slow and careful. The air smells of sweat and body odor, a strange sour scent that never fails to make her curl her nose, no matter how many times she walks into the gym. Perspiration forms on her hairline, rolls down the back of her neck, and even with the fan blasting from the back of the tent, Brienne feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle any moment. Her tank top is soaked, and when she gets back to her quarters she’ll strip it off and wash it in the sink, scrubbing it with the same bar of soap she uses when she gets the rare shower. 

Fuck this place. 

She had landed in Afghanistan a few weeks ago, assigned to a platoon that had been on a counterterrorism mission for the last year. Some of the men were going home, taking a break from a life that was full of constant fighting. They would get a chance to be normal, to see their families, their children, and Brienne would take one’s place, continue the fight in a war that sometimes felt endless. 

The first woman in the platoon. The first woman Navy Seal ever. 

Getting her Navy Seal contract was the proudest moment of her life, and Brienne remembered how she had stood ramrod straight, eyes ahead, face impassive, her eyes not even glancing at her general father, and all she could hope is that she would finally make him proud. She had gone home after that, back to the small town where she grew up, sitting on the edge of the gulf, warm breezes blowing into her bedroom, and tried to ignore that although her father had bragged about his daughter, the first woman to make it through Navy Seal training, he still hadn’t been able to come and spend her last week before deployment with her. A week later she was sitting on a violently shaking Navy transport, Podrick Payne sitting next to her, his face impassive, as they roared towards Iraq. 

Payne. Brienne smiles, thinking about her friend. At least he was here with her. At least she knew he doesn’t want to fuck her. 

They’d met during training, two misfits who were never supposed to make it this far. They’d become friends. They’d proved everyone wrong. Brienne could still remember the night after they got their assignment, sitting on the terrace of a small cafe near the base, a hot wind blowing, a bottle of beer sweating in front of Brienne. 

“We’ve got the Mad King.” 

Brienne had blinked at the nickname. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard of him before. Everyone knew about Master Chief Aerys Targaryen. There had been rumors for years, that he knew how to get things done. He was a legend. But the _Mad King_. She’d swallowed. 

“Good,” Brienne picked up her beer and took swallow, feeling the glass of the bottle in her hand, then had set down with a clunk on the table. There had been stories about Aerys Targaryen. No, not stories: legends. 

“It’s just…” Pod’s voice had faded away. He’d looked at her and Brienne could see the worry in his eyes. There were the other things. Whispers. Rumors. She knew he’d heard them. Brienne had scraped at the label on the beer bottle with a short fingernail. She didn’t know what Pod wanted her to say, so she said the first thing that sprang to her mind, the first thing her training had taught her. 

“He’s our commander, Pod”

Chain of command. 

Pod didn’t answer. 

The master chief hadn’t given her the time of day when she arrived. He’d barely greeted her, looking her up and down as she stood before him, back ramrod straight, showing him the respect he deserved as the highest ranking person in the platoon, the one in charge. His eyes finally rested on her face and she’d watched as his lips twisted into a small sneer. 

“Lannister,” Master Chief Targaryen snapped. “Take care of it.” 

_It._

It was clear Aerys Targaryen was not on board with the Navy’s plan for diversification and gender equality. Brienne hadn’t even flinched, because she’d expected nothing more than exactly what her Master Chief had done. This game wasn’t new to her. The disdain and sneers for Brienne Tarth, a woman as tall and broad as a man, had been there her whole life. 

Targaryen stalked away from where Brienne stood and his CPO had stepped forward, a man almost as tall as her, with snapping green eyes and a reputation to boot. 

They called him the Lion. 

“Not the best start.”

Brienne had blinked at his words, and for a moment she was startled enough to forget how to respond, until her discipline kicked in and she answered with a firm, loud, “No sir!”

Jaime Lannister smiled. White teeth flashed against sun bronzed skin, the lines around and his eyes crinkled a bit, and for a moment he looked more friend than foe. Brienne knew better than to relax. He wanted her there no more than the Master Chief. 

_Beware the lion._

Everyone knew the Lannisters. Their family was one of the richest in the world, his father the head of the huge Casterly corporate conglomerate with influence all over the world, its tendrils snaking into every country imaginable. His sister, the green-eyed, golden haired beauty, a successful business woman in her own right. Then there was Jaime Lannister. The enigma. He was the golden boy, the one who was supposed to inherit his father's kingdom. Instead he had chosen a different path. There had been stories about him, puff pieces on the back pages of magazines outlining how he’d turned his back on the family business, chose a career in the military, become a Navy Seal, a member of one of the most elite fighting forces on the planet. 

Brienne had met him before. Once. He had headed up part of the land warfare training at BUD/S, and Brienne remembered how his easy manner disguised a hard glint in his eye, how his pretty face and charm might convince you his hands had not seen countless deaths. 

“The best of the best,” Pod had told her. Brienne had stood tall and strong, knowing he was fresh from Iraq, on his way to Afghanistan and someone who she wanted to respect her. He’d barely glanced her way until finally he’d come to stand in front of her, gave her a long look, a small frown furrowing his brow, a twitch of his lips and Brienne knew what would come next. 

“Are you even a WOMAN?” 

She didn’t even flinch at the insult. She never had backed down from the endless insults men like Jaime Lannister enjoyed flinging her way. 

“Yes, Sir,” Brienne had snapped back, her eyes flashing. She had heard worse than that. His green eyes narrowed when he saw she would not let him bait her. Then he gave her a slight nod and moved on. 

The next time she saw him he was showing her to her tent, striding ahead of her, his shoulders stiff, his jaw tight, and even though she had an inch on him, she still had to almost run to keep up. He’d left her at her tent, and Brienne felt a stab of disappointment that after all her work and training, and after enduring endless jokes and insults, this was how it was going to be. 

Fuck this place. She drops the dumbell onto the ground with a loud clang, not caring how much noise it made, but knowing it also doesn’t matter. The moment she’d walked into the tent with the weights, the rest of the men had walked out. 

Two weeks at camp and Brienne had yet to be sent out. She’d watched as other members of the platoon geared up, headed out, returned covered in dirt, eyes tired. She lifted weights every day. She ran every morning, rising before the sun, pushing herself until her chest burned and her tank top was soaked with sweat. Pod went out. He told her about it, about being on patrol, finding an abandoned house filled with guns. How an enemy fighter had darted from an outbuilding and they took him down. Brienne had smiled and bit back her frustration. 

Brienne stands up and stretches a little. She puts the weights back in place, grabs a towel to wipe down the equipment then heads outside, towards the mess tent where Pod will be waiting for her. She grabs her breakfast, ignoring the stares and whispers that seem to follow her everywhere, wondering if these assholes could just let her eat her meal in peace for once. She scans the tent until she finds Pod then slides into the seat across from him. He glances up and gives her a little nod. 

“I’m being sidelined,” Brienne complains to Pod, staring down at the dry eggs they seem to serve every fucking morning. “I didn’t go through training to sit in a desert and work on my fucking abs.” 

Pod cocks one eyebrow and his mouth quirks with a smile that he quickly bites back. He opens his mouth and glances at the arm Brienne is resting on the table. She glances down and realizes that her biceps are bulging. 

“Well….”

Brienne glares at Pod. He shrugs and takes a drink of the coffee sitting in front of him, then sets it down on the table. 

“Master Chief’s taking me out.”

It is Brienne’s turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“Just you?”

“Yeah. I guess.” 

Brienne frowns. 

Podrick Payne had been everyone’s second pick to fail training. Brienne Tarth had been their first. They both proved them wrong. Brienne knew why no one believed in Pod. He wasn’t what most people might pick as a stereotypical Navy Seal, and when Brienne had asked him why he had worked as hard as he had to even get into training, he’d shrugged and told her he was a pretty good swimmer. And that he wanted to help his country. So the first woman to enter Navy Seal training took him under her wing and worked with him to do what he needed to prove the doubters wrong. And Pod was right. He was a pretty good swimmer. Best in their class. Where Brienne cut through the water like a log, Pod was agile and quick. She still found it amusing that their best swimmer was sent him to the desert. Still, Brienne was glad to have him. He was her only link to sanity and the only other person besides herself who believed she belonged there.

Now Pod is telling her that Targaryen was taking him out on patrol. Solo. And Brienne was supposed to do, what? Take up knitting? Decimate more targets on the shooting range? It felt like a dig. She felt anger start to clench in her chest. 

“It’s wrong, you know.” 

Brienne sighs as Pod explains what she already knows. Seems Pod is not just a good swimmer, he’s a fucking clairvoyant. 

“You should say something.” 

Brienne scowls. Say what? _Fuck you all, go to hell._ And get what? A dishonorable discharge for insubordination? Lose everything she’s worked so hard for? Part of her thinks she should have listened to her father, gone to law school, joined the JAG. Women are going far there these days. That was what he said when she’d told him she wanted to apply to become a Seal. 

Still, chain of command. Pod was right. She could sit in camp, useless, or she could do what she has been trained to do and go up the chain. 

“Targaryen will never….”

The chief barely glances at her on a good day. He’s clearly pissed it’s HIS platoon picked for this gender bending experiment. Brienne is pretty sure he’s not going to listen to her complaints. Pod nods his agreement. He knows she’ll get nowhere with the Targaryen. 

“Lannister.” 

Brienne’s mouth clamps shut. The Lion. 

“He can talk to Targaryen. Be your advocate….”

Brienne snorted. Lannister. As is he would feel any differently about her being here than the Mad King. They’re all part of this fucking cluster fuck. 

“I don’t….”

“Brienne,” Pod say her name in a quiet but serious way. “This situation, it’s not fair. You are a Seal. You did the training, you have the same contract as all these other assholes. You should not be sitting around here while they ignore you.” 

Brienne felt her eyes well up with rare tears. She nodded. Pod was right. She needed to do something. Even if it meant she was blackballed even more, at least she had tried. And if it got bad enough, she would try to get out. Give up the dream, go spend her military career doing something else. But first, she would try. She was no less a warrior than the others. This was no less of a fight. 

“Okay.”

Pod looks surprised at her agreement. Then he nods. 

“Good.”

Brienne finds Jaime Lannister the next day. He is walking towards command with long, purposeful strides, a small frown on his face. His is neat and tidy, standard military cut, hair bleached gold by the sun. He is the kind of good looking that girls, and some boys, tape up on their walls and dream about, a poster boy for the Navy and all it promises: honor, glory, victory. If Brienne had ever been anything like _those_ girls she might have taken a moment to appreciate his muscled forearms, the sharp angled bones of his wrist, his long fingers. She is nothing like them. He is her superior. He is also in her way. 

“Chief Lannister!” Brienne calls out. The Lion stops and turns at the sound of her voice, his eyes searching for who is calling his name until they finally settle on her. His mouth twists in what must be either disappointment or resignation. 

“Tarth.” 

Her name is a growl of irritation, and Brienne feels her heart start to pound. For a moment she almost asks him a mundane question, like would it be possible for her to get a second gear locker. Except she doesn’t need another gear locked and Brienne Tarth has never been one to back down from a fight, even one she thought she most likely would lose 

“Sir,” Brienne starts, hating the way her voice stutters a bit. “I...this...I want to be sent out. On patrol.” She gulps, then adds, “Sir’ one more time, almost wincing at how poorly this is going. 

Lannister looks at her, thoughtful. She takes the lack of immediate rejection as an opening. Brienne takes in a big breath and launches into making her case, her wires rushed. 

“I trained for this, chief. I did everything everyone else did, maybe even more because I’m the first woman to go through the program, and now I’m sitting here and it’s a waste. A waste of my time. A waste of my talents. A waste of the Navy’s money, and I want to go out. If he can take Pod out solo, surely I can go out too...” 

Brienne pauses, shocked at what has just spewed from her mouth. She gulps again and then adds, “Sir”, as if that will make the situation better. 

Lannister stares at her. She straightens even more. She is taller than him, just as broad, her shoulders are freckled from the sun, her tank top still damp from her morning workout. She sniffs a little and fights back the urge to reach up and smooth her short Navy cut. Finally Jaime Lannister speaks, his voice measure and tinged with something that almost sounds like amusement. 

“This is what you want?” 

“Yes,” Brienne says, her mouth dry, fists clenched. 

“Okay,” Jaime says. He turns away from her and keeps walking, leaving Brienne standing, staring after him, her mouth hanging open


	3. The Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please subscribe to get updates.**

Jaime is tired. His body is tired. His soul is tired. He feels overcome by a weariness that feels like it goes all the way to his very bones. He stares at the laptop that’s sitting open on the small metal desk that sits next to his bed. His sister stares back at him. Jaime sighs, wondering if Cersei even notices his melancholy. 

“I could retire.” 

Cersei snorts. Her beautiful nose wrinkles a bit at Jaime’s words. 

“And do what?” 

Her voice has an edge of laughter, as if Jaime had uttered a total absurdity when he suggested he could leave the Navy. He stares at Cersei’s grainy image on the screen. Her breasts are bare, her eyes languid. He’d at least bothered to redo his trousers when they were done, but it’s not like Cersei has ever been modest. She laughs dismissively, not truly interested in his next career move. It’s all phone sex, or video sex, or whatever they are doing these days. Jaime rubs the bridge of his nose. He misses… he’s not entirely sure what he misses. Intimacy, maybe. Cersei always feels more like fucking and not much more. Still…

He likes fucking. 

“I mean, Father would take you back.” 

The edge in her voice changes, becomes sharp. Her mouth twists a little. She’s threatened. Jaime sighs. She hates when he talks about leaving, doing something else. Cersei likes him exactly where he is: half a world away; working a job that allowed for almost no personal life; easy to get to when she was horny, nowhere near the board room where she rules as queen. Jaime wants none of it, but he knows Cersei will never believe him. There are other options. Selmey had sent him an email. He was starting a company, contract jobs. There would be a lot of money involved. As if money could motivate Jaime. 

“How’s Robert?” Jaime changes the subject, knowing Cersei's annoyance at her husband will trump her consternation at the idea of her brother taking what their father saw as his rightful place in the family. The one she currently occupies. The one his father has always told him is his. Cersei rolls her eyes. 

“Robert is a boor.” 

Robert is always a boor. Jaime has always hated him, sometimes asking his sister how she can stay married to such a drunken, cheating slob. Robert Baratheon denying an affair has become an almost weekly affair in the tabloids in the fifteen years since Cersei had married him. Pictures of him at various parties, swollen and flushed grace their covers on a regular basis. Tywin Lannister has a good publicity team and enough friends in high places to keep Robert from spinning out of control. Still, there had to be better beards out there. 

Whenever he asked the question, Cersei gave him the same answer. “Mainly because fucking my brother is bad enough. I can’t marry him too.” 

Robert is her plus one. Jaime is her secret. 

“Why do you want out?” 

Jaime blinks, surprised that his distraction technique didn’t work. Cersei had actually been paying attention. Her question rolls around in her head. Why does he want out? So many reasons. Brienne Tarth standing before him asking to be treated fairly. This goddamn place, fighters like ghosts, never knowing when you might die. But mostly, that day. 

An image springs into head; the sun shining high in the sky. A smell; the way the desert smells. The heat. A hot Afghanistan day. A sound; the crunch of rocks under his boots. Sweat. His mouth goes dry, just like it had been that day. 

It had been a small group. A surprise raid, Aerys had said. Jaime had almost said “no”. He had reports to finish. New Seals were arriving in a few days, including the first woman to get through the training. Centcom had given him a heads up and Jaime has bit back his urge to argue that she should go somewhere else. They didn’t fucking need this kind of trouble. So there was that cluster fuck to deal with and here was Aerys wanting to head on on some god damn unauthorized mission.

_Fucking Aerys._

Jaime didn’t say “no”. Because Aerys was the master chief, and Jaime’s superior, and Jaime wanted his respect. Plus Jaime was a military man. Twenty years now. He was new to the platoon and wasn’t about to challenge a man who he had heard about almost his whole career. So he had geared up in the dark, thrown on his cammies, drained a cup of strong, black coffee and headed out to the humvees where the master chief was waiting. 

He comes back to the present, to Cersei on the other side of the world, waiting for his answer.

“No real reason,” Jaime lies. He can’t say. And even if he could, he’s not even sure Cersei would care. She… this _thing_ between them… makes him so tired sometimes. Half the time she doesn’t listen to him, and he’s not sure what part he plays in her life. Even if he told her the truth about why he wants to get out, she wouldn’t understand. Cersei lives in a world that is endlessly flexible, bending everything to her needs. Jaime has a code. 

“It’s just a cluster fuck.” 

Of massive proportions, Jaime adds silently. 

Cersei shrugs then moves onto complaining about their father, telling him about some assistant he’s fucking, how she’s walking around the office like she’s better than Cersei. Jaime doesn’t care. His mind wanders. 

He should have said “no” to Aerys. Fuck getting his respect. Because what happened. That day. It’s eating away at him. 

The village they drove to that morning was quiet. The sun was just peeking up over the hills in the distance, a kangaroo rat skittered as Jaime stepped out of the humvee, hoisting his weapon, and followed Aerys while wondering what this mission was about. Did he miss some information from Centcom? Did Aerys hold something back from him? He knew Aerys was respected within the officers, drinking shots of expensive scotch when they came to visit, telling them tales. Did one of them ask a favor and Jaime is along for the ride? 

Jaime followed Aerys. Ryker and Crab followed behind. Jaime wondered why Aerys had picked them. He would find out soon enough. 

Their combat boots sounded loud in the quiet of the morning. Jaime gripped his weapon, his eyes darting left, then right, then left again. He felt his heart start to pound. He slowed his breathing, feeling the coolness of the damp air as he inhaled. 

What the fuck were they doing?

Targaryen walked up to one of the small houses in the village and suddenly beat down the door. Jaime gaped, his brain scrambling to make sense of what was happening. He watched the master chief step through the doorway followed by Ryker and Crab, and seconds later they were shoving a man and woman out of the house. The woman was screaming, a hysterical, terrified sound that Jaime would hear again and again in his dreams. The man was saying something over and over in Arabic, his voice garbled with fear, but Jaime didn’t need to understand the words to know the man was pleading for his life. He saw Aerys raise his gun. 

_Fucking Aerys._

There was a crack. The woman fell to the ground, limp, and Jaime had stared as blood started to seep around her, coloring the sand almost black in the dim morning light. 

The man howled. 

Another crack. 

The howling stopped. The man crumpled forward onto the ground. All Jaime could do was stare as he watched Crab crouch down and start rifling through the man’s pockets.He pivoted towards Jaime, holding a wad of bloodied money in his hand. 

“Want some?” 

Jaime’s eyes had swept across the scene, the two bodies lying on the sand, the blood spreading beneath them, bits of bone and brain matter lying on the ground. Aerys standing above them, saying something to Ryker, Crab still crouched on the ground searching through the dead man’s other pockets. 

“What the fuck?”

Jaime didn’t realize he was yelling. The sound of his own voice startled him. 

“WHAT THE FUCK????”

Targaryen's gaze fell on him. His eyes narrowed and he walked over to where Jaime was standing, stunned. He looked him directly in the eye, his mouth a grim line. 

“You’re not game, Lannister?” 

The chief’s words were quiet and full of warning. The back of Jaime’s neck prickled. It wasn’t a question. It was a threat. He realized he was shaking. He had killed more combatants than he could count, had been pinned down in firefights he thought he probably wouldn’t survive, had slunk through the dead of night to slit the throats of people who were threats to his country, and he had never even trembled. He was a warrior. It was his job to fight. But this… this was carnage. 

Jaime couldn’t answer. 

“They were enemy combatants,” Aerys explained, as if Jaime was a child; as if he didn’t know that was a lie. “They were planning to kill our men. You have a problem with stopping that?” 

Jaime didn’t answer. 

They had left the village. Jaime could feel eyes on him, the eyes of witnesses to what had just happened, and behind those eyes, hearts that were hardening. As they were leaving, Aerys had pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin then tossed it into the empty house where the bodies of the man and woman still lay on the sand. It exploded with a boom and as Jaime followed Targaryen back to their humvee, he glanced over his shoulder to see the building engulfed in flames. 

Aerys hadn’t taken him on one of his unauthorized missions again. 

Suddenly Jaime is tired. He’s tired a lot these days. He yawns. 

“Am I boring you?” 

Cersei’s voice is like ice, and Jaime realizes he hasn’t heard a thing she was saying. For a moment, Jaime thinks about answering her question honestly. Yes, she’s boring him. Her cunt doesn’t, the rare times he gets access to it. Her breasts don’t. Her lips on his, around his cock? Not boring. But Cersei, with her pettiness, her insatiable hunger for power? That Cersei bores him. Not enough to walk away but enough that he doesn’t long to close the distance between them in the way he had longed to in the past. Jaime lets out a heavy sigh. 

“I need to turn in.” 

Cersei rolls her eyes. 

It wasn’t a lie. It had been hard to sleep lately. Plus that fucking Tarth woman had cornered him earlier that day, telling him the bullshit Aerys was pulling, leaving her benched, refusing to send her out. Jaime hadn’t cared. He’d never asked for fucking Brienne Tarth in all her hulking muscled glory, probably didn’t care any more than Aerys if she saw action or complained about not seeing it. Then she’d said something about Payne going on a solo mission with Targaryen and Jaime felt a chill go through him. Now he had to follow through, talk to the Master Chief, tell him to get a Brienne Tarth out there. And figure out why Targaryen had picked Payne. _Fucking Aerys. Fucking psychopath. Fucking crazy place._ Jaime needs to sleep. Maybe some of this will make sense in the morning. 

Cersei breaks through his thoughts. 

“Are you hard?” 

_Goddammit._

Cersei’s voice is soft and breathy, calculated to sound sexy. Jaime tries not to roll his eyes. Still, his cock jumps at the sound. He knows it wouldn’t take much. Still….

“Jesus Christ, Cers,” Jaime spits out. “I’m tired. I don’t use amphetamines or whatever that shit is you pop to keep yourself going.” 

She makes a petulant face. 

“Fine. I don’t need you anyway.” 

He barely hears her last words as he shuts his laptop. Jaime strips down to a tank top and the boxer briefs he prefers over the standard issue. He climbs into bed and suddenly Cersei’s voice pops into his head. 

_Are you hard?_

Jesus fucking Christ, he is. Jaime slips his hand under the waistband of his underwear as he silently curses his sister.


	4. The Squire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pod POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please subscribe to get updates.**

Podrick tosses in his cot, barely sleeping. He knows when the morning comes he’ll be tired, and he can only hope the adrenaline of an early morning patrol will wake him up. He closes his eyes and works on relaxing his body bit by bit, only to have his mind start whirling like it has since he crawled into bed. The Master Chief had asked him to go out with him. It was an honor. 

It was unusual.

Brienne had been hurt when he told her. He’d seen it in her eyes, and part of him wanted to find Targaryen and tell him “no”. He didn’t. Because Podrick Payne had spent his whole life not fitting in, and he liked that Aerys Targaryen had asked for him. Even though Brienne was hurt, part of Pod was proud. That was that part that did not say no. 

Pod has always felt like a fish out of water and somehow getting into the training programs hadn’t made things better. That changed when he met Brienne. She had asked him why he had even applied for Seal training. It wasn’t the right question. The right question was why had they even taken him. 

_Sometimes a fish out of water can swim._

That’s what he told Brienne with a dismissive shrug. It was something he said, a way to justify the mystery that surrounded why Podrick Payne even had a chance to be part of Seal training. He wasn’t wrong. He was one of the best distance swimmers around, swimming for hours at a time. It was after one of the competitions that the recruiter had approached Pod. He still didn’t know why he’d said ‘yes’, but a few months later he found himself standing in the middle of a group of huge, physically fit men. And Brienne Tarth. 

He would have failed out of the program except Brienne had looked him up and down, a frown of on her face, then decided she cared. 

It’s dark when Pod finally gets up. The Master Chief had told him to meet him even before the rest of the men were waking for the morning patrol. He stretches a little before he rolls out of his bunk and dresses quickly, shoving an energy bar in his pocket for later - for when his stomach stops roiling - his phone in the other. Keeping quiet so the rest of the men can get their sleep, Pod slips out of the tent. 

Targaryen had asked him to go out with him the day before. No, it wasn’t really an ask. More a statement of fact that indicated Pod would be doing something other than going to the mess tent the next morning. Pod didn’t argue.

“You’re Payne, right?”

The Master Chief had fallen in step with Pod as he made his way back to his tent after dinner. Podrick had glanced over once then swallowed, wondering what he had done to gain the attention of a man who only grunted at him as an afterthought. 

“Yes, sir,” Podrick had said, keeping his words formal. 

“You and Tarth, you trained together, right?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Podrick had felt some trepidation about this line of inquiry. The Master Chief should know this, should know he and Brienne were on their first deployment together. Maybe he wanted to get Pod’s view on Brienne. Maybe he wanted to finally give her a chance. 

“You’re close?”

Pod frowned. The trepidation grew into unease. 

“Yes, sir,” Pod had answered, wondering exactly what the Master Chief was asking. Was he curious about Brienne? Did he want to find out what type of Seal she was? Did he think they were fucking? Did he want to fuck her himself? Pod opened his mouth, and although he knew he should not say more, he did. 

“She’s damn good, sir. She works hard. She trains hard. And she’s my friend.” 

_Give her a chance_ , Pod adds silently. Maybe this will be all Brienne needs. Maybe Targaryen will hear his words and finally see that keeping Brienne at the base is a mistake. The Master Chief stops walking suddenly and Pod skids to a halt next to him, wondering if he’s said too much. 

“Sir?” Pod asks, trying to tamp down that same unease, trying to tell himself this was going to help his friend. Targaryen doesn’t answer immediately. He looks thoughtful for a moment.

“I’m going out tomorrow morning,” Targaryen finally says. “I want you to come with me.” 

Pod’s heart leaps. 

“Morning patrol. Yes sir, I’ll be ready.” 

“No.” 

Pod stops. Not morning patrol. If not, then what does the Master Chief want with him?

“It’s a personal mission. I need someone to drive.” 

Pod’s heart sinks. Morning patrol would have been a great move for him. They tended to only sent the seasoned Seals out. He could have watched them, learned. But still, the Master Chief was asking for him. Not Crab or Ryker or Trant or Turnberry. He was asking for Payne. 

“Yes, sir,” Podrick Payne had answered, because when your superior told you he was taking you out on a special mission, you answer yes. 

The morning is cold. The mornings here always are, a kind of cruel joke just before the sun scorches back to the earth, and between the cold and the searing heat, Pod can never get comfortable. He walks towards where Targaryen is no doubt waiting for him. When Pod stops, Master Chief tosses him a thermos, grunting that he brought coffee. Wordless they get into the humvee. Targaryen tells him to drive north. The humvee roars across the barren landscape. The ride is rough and every bone in Pod’s body feels jolted, his teeth rattled. He grips the steering wheel and stares out at the road, the terrain around him becoming visible as the sun starts to lighten the sky. His superior officer says nothing, just takes an occasional sip out of the thermos. Finally Targaryen tells him to turn to the right and Pod makes a hard turn with the humvee, leaving a cloud of dust and they continue to bounce across the desert. Ten minutes, fifteen, then the Master Chief tells him to slow down, then finally to stop. The humvee is halted at the bottom of a rocky ridge that rises from the desert. Aerys jumps out of the humvee and goes to the back, rummaging around. 

“Sir?” Pod calls, not entirely sure what is happening. “Should I help, sir?” 

“I just need you to drive, Payne” 

Targaryen's voice is a low growl and Pod knows not to say more. A few minutes more and Aerys shuts the back of the vehicle and starts to walk away from Pod and up towards the ridge. Podrick watches until the Master Chief reaches the top and disappears. He sighs a little, rubs at the bridge of his nose, and waits. 

The minutes tick by and Pod wonders exactly why he’s here. Surely Targaryen could have driven himself. Then there were the questions about Brienne. Why had he been asking about her? Pod was pretty much the only person who talked to Brienne Tarth, and suddenly the Mad King cared. When Aerys had first asked Pod to come with him, Pod had been flattered, but as he sits waiting, his mind racing, he starts to see that maybe something else is going on. Pieces start to fall into place. 

He is trying to get to Brienne. It’s all about Brienne Tarth. 

_Fuck._

Pod swallows. 

Another ten minutes pass. 

No sign of Targaryen. 

Pod decides to get out of the humvee. He jumps down onto the ground, sand and rock crunching under his heavy combat boots. He looks round to his right where the desert stretches out to the horizon. To his left, up the ridge. Finally Pod decides he should see if there’s any sign of the Master Chief. He starts to walk up the ridge, climbing along the path he’d seen Targaryen take. The sun is high in the sky now and Pod starts to sweat under his helmet. His breathing grows heavy. The climb up the ridge is harder than it looks. He stops to rest for a moment and looks upward. It’s a long way to the top. Targaryen had made it look easy. Pod starts again, placing one foot in front of the other. 

What if Aerys comes up over the ridge? 

He would say he was worried. They are a team. Seals look after each other. Targaryen would understand, and maybe he’d get a look of respect. Even if he didn’t, he was doing the right thing. What if the Master Chief had met an enemy combatant? What if Pod was the only person who knew he was out here? He had to keep climbing. 

Pod hears a crack in the distance. He knows that sound. He’s heard it too many times. Gunfire. He starts to run, scrambling up the path, his feet slipping on the rock. 

Another crack. Closer. Targaryean is in trouble. 

Finally he reaches the top, his breath now coming in sharp gasps, his heart pounding, sweat pouring down his face. He stands up ramrod straight, looks down the ridge and into the valley below, and gasps. 

A village in the distance. 

It’s burning. 

Bodies on the ground. 

Aerys Targaryen with his gun pointed at a man on his knees. 

_Fuck. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck?_

Everything around Pod slows, his ears ring, his mouth goes dry, his tongue feels thick. Somehow he thinks to take out the phone he’d tucked into the pocket of his cammies before he left. He raises it up and his shaking fingers can barely bring up the camera. He lifts it and despite the fact that the shaking has become violent now, he manages to snap one picture, another. A third. 

SNAP

_Master Chief Aerys Targaryen burning a village._

SNAP 

_Master Chief Aerys Targaryen shooting a civilian._

The gun goes off with a crack. Pod startles at the sound and suddenly everything shifts from slow motion to hyperspeed. He turns and starts to scramble down the ridge, flooded with terror over what might happen if Aerys happens to turn and stare towards the ridge only to find Podrick Payne holding his cell phone and taking a picture. He slips and falls on the loose rock, not caring that its leaving cuts on his hands, until he finally makes it back to the humvee. Once he’s there, Pod leans over and hurls the meagre contents of his stomach onto the ground. 

What the hell? 

What did he just see? 

Pod grabs a canteen of water from behind the seat and swigs it. He swishes the water around his mouth then spits it onto the sand, trying to get the sour taste out. Then he pours the water over his dirt and blood covered hands, and hopes Targaryen won’t notice the cuts. He climbs back into the humvee and grabs the steering wheel, gripping it hard, willing his breathing to slow. 

A tear trickles down his face. 

What did he just see? What the FUCK did he just see?

And what the fuck does he do next? 

~TBC~


	5. Chain of Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

Brienne Tarth is in Jaime’s head 

He stalks towards the command tent, towards Aerys and an inevitable confrontation that he didn’t even want to have. In his head he’s going over the words he had thought as Brienne Tarth stood in front of him, her primary sin her cunt, as she told him she deserved more. 

_Want to know the truth. Stupid, ugly cow. You don’t belong here._

Yet part of Jaime knew she was right. The part that despite himself is going to do what she asked. Because Aerys sidelining her was wrong. The Navy had decided women could be Seals. Brienne Tarth had done the training. Jaime could imagine being the first woman in a place steeped in machismo and testosterone was far from easy. She’d graduated, gotten the same contract they all got. She had balls. Enough balls to stand in front of her CPO and ask him to make things right. 

He’d almost told Tarth to go to hell. It had been on the tip of his tongue, about to spill over. Maybe his words would have finally made those blue eyes doubt; finally shaken the ugly warrior woman who had been a thorn in his side from the moment Centcom told him she was coming. They told him that not only was his platoon getting the first woman Seal, he needed to find her a private tent. A fucking private tent because she was the only woman on the base. Now she was asking him for favors. He should have told her to go to hell and maybe she would have given up, walked away and no longer been his problem. Then things could have gone back to how they had always been. 

Then she’d said Podrick Payne’s name. Jaime’s heart had skipped a beat. Aerys was taking Podrick fucking Payne on of his psycho unauthorized missions.

Crab and Ryker were one thing, but Payne? He was green. He wasn’t there just to do a job, he was learning what it meant to be a Seal. What Aerys was doing, it wasn’t what being a Navy Seal was about. It wasn’t right to put Payne in the middle of it. So instead of telling Tarth to go to hell, Jaime stopped and listened to her. Worse, he decided she was right. Now he was on what could be a career suicide mission to tell his superior that what he was doing was wrong. All because of Brienne Tarth, her blue eyes and her god damn expectation that she get a fair chance. 

_Fucking Aerys._

Jaime grows increasingly pissed as he gets closer to the command tent. He’s been a Seal for a long time, but he’d never dealt with anything quite like this. It’s like Targaryen is living in his own kingdom with his own rules, including killing the very civilians they are there to protect and who knows what else. Who knows who else is involved. Clearly Crab and Ryker. They’d done that shit before. Now Jaime knows why they’d been picked. Who else? This whole place felt infected, and Jaime had no idea who to trust. 

The master chief thought his new CPO would go along with this type of thing, hadn’t even thought to test the waters to see if Jaime would play along. The most bothersome thing? When it was obvious Jaime wouldn’t, Aerys didn’t give a fuck. He was what they called him: the Mad King. 

Jaime arrives at the command tent. He pauses outside, a barely perceptible hesitation, and he feels that small tug of dread that always comes just before a situation turns bad. It’s his gut. The one that has kept him alive. Jaime steps forward, pushing the tent flap aside and blinks in the dim light. Aerys is standing over a laptop, staring at it intently, and briefly glances up at him before going back to whatever he is doing. Jaime quickly takes in that Targaryen is wearing the cammies he puts on when he goes out on patrol and it’s just 10. He swallows. He thinks about Podrick Payne again. 

_Shit._

Jaime’s mouth is dry. He speaks, keeps his voice even, asks a question he already knows the answer to. He just wants to hear it from Aerys himself. 

“You led the patrol this morning?” 

Jaime knows full well the Master Chief was nowhere near the early patrol that went out just as the sun was turning the endless Afghanistan sky into the softest shade of gray. He knows wherever Aerys had been, it was unofficial. Still, he wants confirmation. 

“Nope,” Aerys grunts, not looking up from his laptop. Maps are projected on the huge screens they use for briefings. Jaime looks at them. He frowns, confused. Helmand. Why the fuck is Aerys looking at Helmand? 

“Side mission.” 

_Podrick Payne_

_Fucking Aerys_

Aerys still doesn’t look up. Jaime knows he should ask him why the maps of Helmand are up. No teams have been sent there in months. Too dangerous. Jaime doesn’t ask - he has to deal with the Tarth situation. 

“Brienne Tarth.” 

The master chief frowns a little at Brienne’s name but still doesn’t look up. 

“What about her? Has the bitch given up yet? It’s about time.” 

Indignation floods through Jaime at Aerys words. It was one thing to listen to Brienne tell him what Aerys was doing, but hearing him confirm it?? Hearing that Aerys was trying to push her out. Whatever ambivalence he had felt about Brienne Tarth and her place in the platoon slips away. A sense of determination to make Targaryen actually do the right thing starts to seep in. 

“The only thing I want to hear about Brienne Tarth is that she’s transferring out.” 

Jaime’s jaw clenches in anger. His words spit out in a low, angry growl.

“What you’re doing is wrong. It’s more than wrong. It’s fucked up.”

Targaryen still at Jaime’s words. Jaime knows he’s gone too far. Finally Targaryen looks at him. Really looks at him. His icy blue eyes slowly lift from the laptop and focus on his CPO. Jaime feels his heart start to pound, and even though he has been in countless life threatening situations, this feels even more dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. A chill runs through him. He gets this feeling, a sharp tingle of fear. It’s the same feeling he gets just before he gets punched in the face, which has happened a few times in the past. Jaime braces himself for Aerys anger. 

Aerys says nothing. Jaime takes in a ragged breath and continues. 

“She did the training. Just like we all did. They gave her a contract. Just like all of us. For her to come here just to sit around….”

Aerys interrupts him. 

“She’s a cunt.” 

Jaime stares at his superior. Aerys goes back to looking at his laptop, as if that is the end of the conversation. Jaime is speechless for a long moment, not sure how to respond. He swallows, takes in a breath, He’s already in deep shit with Targaryen, might as well entirely destroy whatever working relationship they are clinging to. 

“She’s a Seal,” Jaime spits out, followed by a quick, “sir”. He is formal. There is no longer anything friendly between them. Jaime decides in that moment that he’ll finish this assignment then ask to go far away from Aerys Targaryen. Retire. Talk to Selmy. Then maybe he can figure out what to do with everything that has happened. 

In the meantime, he hopes Brienne Tarth is worth this.

Aerys raises his head to look Jaime square in the face. His eyes are cold and full of fury; mouth pinched. His face is no longer impassive. Jaime sees the other man is almost shaking with anger. He waits for him to push the laptop aside, lunge towards him, waits for the punch to land. 

“You’re right, Lannister.” 

Targaryen’s voice is calm. Jaime blinks back his surprise. The feeling of dread worsens. Something is wrong. 

“She’s a Seal.” 

His mouth goes dry. Aerys is being too reasonable. Jaime’s mind races, trying to get ahead of Targaryen, figure out what angle he’s coming from. 

“We need to send a team into Helmand.” 

_Fuck_

“She wants to go out? We can send her. Brienne fucking Tarth.” 

Jaime goes cold at Targaryen’s words. Brienne Tarth has done nothing wrong. She works hard. It wasn’t her fault the Navy decided women could be Seals. All she did was take advantage of that, and she has that right. Jaime wants to punch Aerys Targaryen. He wants to kill him. He struggles to find his voice, to find the words to answer Aerys. 

“That’s a death sentence,” Jaime’s voice is low. “You know this, Targaryen. She will die. The whole team will”

Aerys smiles. It’s a triumphant, smug smile. He knows he has won. Jaime feels sick. 

“Listen very carefully,” Aerys says slowly. “This is an order. Tomorrow morning Brienne Tarth will be part of the reconnaissance team. There is new ACM activity, we need to get an idea of what we’re up against. She wants action, she’ll get it. Do you understand me, Lannister?”

Aerys pauses. Jaime snaps out a sharp, “yes sir!” even though part of him wants to argue, to tell Aerys this is no different than standing her against a wall and putting a bullet between her eyes. But it’s an order. A fucking order. And Jaime is a military man. And it’s the chain of command. Aerys looks at him for a long moment, that same smug look on his face.

“And you, CPO Lannister, will be leading that team.” 

_Fuck_

~TBC~


	6. Warrior Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning: this chapter has violence, minor character death. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please feel free to subscribe if you would like updates.

_They will die today._

Jaime glances over at Brienne Tarth. She is flat on her belly behind an outcrop of rock, staring straight ahead, her jaw set, eyes focused, a picture perfect warrior. Her straw colored hair peeks out from beneath her helmet. Jaime can see the sweat beading on her forehead. His eyes take in the freckles scattered across her nose, made even more apparent by the desert sun, the tension in her shoulders, and he notes something in her eyes. 

_Fear._

They had started out early two days ago: Towers, Tarth, Redwynn and Jaime, driving into Helmand. They were all silent as they made their way into what everyone knew was dangerous territory. They were heading for Maslahat, a village in the treacherous mountains of the Washir district. They were supposed to secure it. That’s what Targaryen told them. It was a key part of an upcoming operation. Jaime had listened to Targaryen’s lies with his jaw clenched. It did not matter whether or not Maslahat was a key to anything. Helmand meant death. Aerys knee that. So did Jaime. 

Now Redwynn lies between them, his body sprawled on the sand, his right leg twisted awkwardly beneath him, his mouth hanging open, one vacant eye staring at Jaime. The other is just a mass of brain matter and bone, half his head ripped apart by enemy fire. He has a wife and kid. He’d told Jaime about them one night. Jaime feels sick. 

Brienne moves, shifts upwards, as if she might stand. There is a crack in the distance. A bullet chips at the rocky outcrop that’s been shielding her for the last hour. Or has it been five hours? Jaime has lost track of time. She shrinks back down. Jaime knows it’s only a matter of time before they join Redwynn, lying lifeless in the desert, rotting in the sun because even retrieving their bodies would be too dangerous. 

Aerys Targaryen is responsible for this. There will be grief, tears, indescribable loss, all because of him. Jaime wants to kill Aerys. He wants to wrap his hands around his throat, stare into those smug eyes and slowly choke the life out of him. 

If he even makes it back. 

_They will die today._

The thought replays over and over in his head. This is how it ends? Pinned down in the desert, fighters that might as well be ghosts all around them, unable to move, unable to save themselves.

Another crack. 

He had always hoped his end would be old age. He’d imagined sitting on a porch, Cersei walking up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, telling him it would be just the two of them the rest of their lives. Jaime will not get old age after all. He gets Brienne Tarth and a suicide mission, trapped in the desert, fear a bitter taste in his mouth. 

There will be a funeral, a fully proper event. Tywin will see to that. He never gives up the chance to broadcast how important family is to him, so Jaime knows his father will not lose his only good son without the world knowing his grief. Cersei will mourn, an appropriately grief stricken sister. No one will know what they mean to each other. Then she will move on. 

He wonders what death is like. 

“Sir!” Brienne yells suddenly, the sound of her voice breaking through the thoughts swirling in Jaime’s head. His turns to stare at her. She is still on her belly, but now is crawling towards him. 

_What the hell._

She has no cover. Fear grips Jaime. What the fuck is Tarth doing? It looks like….

“No.” 

Jaime yells as loud as he can but before the word is out of his mouth, she is launching herself to a stand and starts running at full speed. She covers the short distance between them, leaping over Redwynn’s body, tucks her shoulder, rolls across the sand, and finally crashes into Jaime’s side. Brienne Tarth is huge. She knocks his breath away as she slams into him full force. Gunfire follows her, loud cracks, and Jaime shrinks down further behind the outcrop of rock that is the only thing between him and the enemy as he frantically tries to get his breath back. 

Fuck, she was magnificent. Targaryen didn’t even want to give this woman a chance? He was both and asshole and an idiot. 

Brienne is panting next to him, her body flat on the ground, crowding Jaime. She is so close he can feel every rise of her chest as she struggles to gain control of her breath. He steals a glance at her, taking in the streaks of dirt on her face, the way the muscles of her shoulders are bunched, the tension in her neck, the wild look in her eyes. He wants to tell her she’s an idiot, that what she did was dangerous, and if she was killed, he would die too. But it was fucking hardcore and when you’re pinned down by enemy fire is not the best time to chastise someone for their stupidity...truly magnificent stupidity. 

_Not that there will be time later._

Jaime glances away from Brienne and back towards the deadly quiet of the village. The silence has returned but Jaime knows the enemy hasn’t given up. They won’t until Jaime and Brienne are dead. They have wandered onto hallowed ground, where they do not belong. 

They lie like that for what seems and eternity, no sound but their ragged breathing, neither daring to move. Part of Jaime starts to hope that the ghosts have gone away, slipped back into the afterworld they had come from. Then they can just stand up, go back to the base….

_CRACK_

Jaime feels Brienne jerk with surprise. Or maybe it was him. The ghosts are not gone. They are just toying with them, dragging out their inevitable end. 

“Humvee,” Brienne breaks the silence with a hoarse whisper. Jaime frowns. Humvee? As if they could get out if this? It seems this warrior woman is not seeing what Jaime sees. They are dead. He almost laughs. 

The humvee is about 200 yards away, which is technically close but to Jaime it might as well be miles. They had left it there when they arrived at the village, all four Seals stepping out into the morning light, and Jaime had put a hand up to shield his eyes from the brightness. The village had looked quiet and Jaime had briefly felt ever so foolish to think that Aerys had sent them to their deaths. It was just a standard mission, a peaceful village. Nothing more. 

They barely made it to the edge of the village before the gunfire had started. 

Towers went down first, a bullet hitting him in the leg with a sickening crack. Jaime didn’t notice they’d lost him until they took cover. He heard him then, screaming in the sand, clutching at his leg. He was bleeding so much. They had hit the femoral. Soon his screaming stopped and became an occasional whimper. Then he was still. 

Redwynn was next. Head shot. He never had a chance to scream. 

Jaime had not been foolish after all. 

Now Tarth thinks they should try to get to the Humvee.

“What the fuck?” Jaime whispers back to Brienne. He is so astounded that he forgets he is her superior, forgets decorum.

Her mouth clamps shut, a thin line of barely disguised stubborn anger, and Jaime wonders what this warrior woman has to be angry about. He is not angry. He has witnessed his commander take innocent lives, has seen him try to drive Tarth out of the unit, but he’s not angry. He is resigned. Because sometimes you cannot win. Sometimes you die. It’s part of the job. 

“Sir,” Brienne’s tone is clipped and edged with desperation. “This is our only chance. One of us should make it out. You will not die today. I’ll cover you. And if you make it, there’s a satellite phone. Call for extraction. I’ll try to stay alive....” 

_Fuck._

Jaime frowns again and stares at Brienne’s face, unable to find the right words to respond to the woman who has just told him she will die for him. Her eyes are wide she glances down at her hand. Jaime’s eyes follow, seeing she has pulled out her standard issue glock and is gripping it tightly. The look on her face makes him realize she knows they will most likely die today. She just intends _he_ will have more of a chance to live. 

“Just…” Brienne’s voice trembles. “Just…, tell them what happened.”

 _Don’t let me die in vain._

Brienne’s words are a whisper in the silence. Jaime’s chest clenches. 

“No.”

Jaime’s voice is firm. He is her superior, her PCO. If anyone will die, it will be him. If anyone will live, it will be Brienne Tarth. He is old and worn, conflicted about even staying in the Navy. Brienne Tarth can still do a lot of good in this world. Jaime knows what must happen and what he must do. 

“I’ll cover YOU.” 

The whole plan is an idiotic idea. A foolish, utterly stupid idea. But the alternative is lying in the desert, waiting until their bullets finally make their mark or they come up with something bigger and nastier to kill them with, like a rocket launcher. Brienne is right. One of them can live. One of them can tell others what happened, and maybe someone will actually ask that crazy fuck Targaryen why he sent then to Helmand in the first place. It should be her. 

“No, sir.” 

Jaime frowns. Tarth is looking at him with what he realizes are extraordinarily blue eyes and an even more extraordinarily mulish look on her face. He stares back for a long moment, speechless. 

She is trying to save HIM. They are going to die today and she fights for HIM. Jaime feels his eyes grow moist. 

_It’s not every day someone is willing to die for you._

“Jaime,” Jaime says quietly. “Please call me Jaime.” 

Brienne’s eyes widen, startled by this sudden turn towards intimacy. Her mouth clamps shut in surprise and her protests fall away. Jaime takes in a deep, shaking breath, because he knows his next words will seal his fate. 

“And that’s an order, Tarth.” 

She swallows hard then nods her head. It’s an order. There is nothing left to protest. They both know what is happening; both know he has made the choice that he will die and she will live. 

Jaime’s eyes don’t leave Brienne’s face. She starts to look away and he reaches out and stops her, his fingers touching her chin, turning her face back to his. 

“Please,” he starts, then stops, unsure how to ask, but he must. “You will make it out of here,” 

Brienne opens her mouth to argue then shuts it. She nods again, then answers his plea, her voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

“My sister. Tell my sister….” 

Jaime’s voice trails off. He is not sure what to say, or how to say it, or how much. He just wants Cersei to know that she was the last thing on his mind before the bullets ripped him apart. 

He cannot. This thing with Cersei. He cannot burden someone else. 

_Tell her I love her. Tell her I always will. For an eternity. Surely longer than she will love me. Tell her she is all I ever wanted._

“...my brother…. My sister and my brother, that I love them.” 

It is enough. It has to be. 

Brienne nods. 

“Yes, sir.” She pauses, then adds his name, doesn’t call him ‘sir’ or ‘CPO Lannister’ but ‘Jaime’. The way she says his name makes Jaime’s chest clench. Suddenly they aren’t Seals but the last two people on Earth. Their eyes lock. There is nothing left to say. They both know what comes next. 

Jaime’s hand drops to his side. He reaches for his glock. His palms feel sweaty. He looks at Brienne. Counts silently, mouthing the words. _One. Two._

A deep breath. 

Eyes locked. 

Blue meets green. 

_Three._

Jaime stands quickly, pointing his gun towards the buildings and starts to fire one shot after another while he roars. 

“RUN!” 

_...crack, crack, crack…_

Brienne plows across the distance between them and the humvee, scrambling up the steep hill to where they had left it, her combat boots crunching on the rocky ground. Jaime doesn’t watch her. He fires again and again. He feels pain in his shoulder, glances over briefly to see a bullet has ripped through the fabric of his fatigues and grazed him. Jaime grips his gun even harder. He fires again. The glock clicks. Empty. 

_Fuck._

He is done. He hopes it was enough.

_...crack, crack, crack…_

It’s time to die. 

Jaime starts to drop down, scrambling down behind the outcrop, and only then he glances up the hill, towards the humvee to see if Brienne has made it or if she was lying dead on the sand. Jaime is surprised to see the sand colored monster of a vehicle barrelling towards him at full speed. That’s when he realizes that the enemy hasn’t been firing at him but at Brienne, who is behind the wheel and driving directly towards him. She skids to a halt right by him, kicking up a huge cloud of dust, rock and sand, swings her door open and yells at him.

“Sir. SIR! JAIME! GET IN!”

Jaime scrambles to his feet and starts to run towards the open door, the crack of gunfire following him, and suddenly a sharp pain flares through him again, his body jerks and he starts to fall towards the ground. It’s his arm. His legs scramble uselessly on the sand and rock, and pain sears through him again as he tries to push himself up with his arm. A familiar warmth trickles down his arm. He cannot get up. He cannot….

She needs to leave him. 

“GO!” Jaime yells. “Just GO!”

_Leave me here. Leave me to die._

Brienne Tarth doesn’t listen, and Jaime wonders through the haze of pain if he should have yelled, ‘and that’s an order’ as well. Tarth is proving to be a bit of a brave idiot. She leaps out of the humvee, bullets raining around her, striking the side of the vehicle, the sand, the rocks, leaving puffs of dust in their wake. She wraps her strong arms around his waist and hoists him up. Jaime screams in pain. She helps him towards the humvee. 

“Not today, sir! Not today.” 

He will never know how neither of them ended up full of holes, bleeding out in the desert. 

The pain is making everything swim, and Jaime tries to talk, to tell her again to leave him, to save herself, but the words don’t come out. Somehow she manages to shove him into the passenger seat. The last thing Jaime remembers before he passes out from the pain is Brienne Tarth gripping the steering wheel of the humvee as she raced across the desert, her face a mask of dirt and blood, her eyes wild. 

A warrior woman. 

~TBC~


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

Brienne speeds across the Afghan desert, her hands gripping the humvee’s steering wheel, her knuckles white, heart pounding, mouth dry. She has no idea where she’s going, except that she almost died and now she’s getting them the hell out of there. 

Jaime Lannister moans from the other side of the humvee. Brienne glances over at him. He’s pale. Too pale. She can see a lot of blood. His right arm is mangled. Brienne pushes hard on the gas pedal as she ticks through the TCCC training she received. 

Care under fire. First thing you do is stop the bleeding. Jaime was bleeding. A lot. She needs to stop the bleeding. 

_Fuck_ , Brienne thinks, _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Jaime moans again. Okay, moaning. Moaning is good. 

Brienne’s mind races. She needs to stop, to assess Lannister. She needs to get away from the village, far out of reach of enemy fire. She needs to call for help on the satellite phone, if she can get a fucking phone signal. She needs to get them out of there. 

She had thought of the phone as she was taking cover behind that rock, enemy fire all around her. There was a fucking _satellite phone_ in the humvee. If they wanted to get out of there, someone had to get to that phone. Without a second thought Brienne had sprinted to where CPO Lannister lay, ignoring his shocked look as she slammed into him with the full weight of her body. She had looked away at that point, not wanting to see the condemnation that would come after the shock, knowing full well what she did risked not only her life but his too. CPO Jaime Lannister was as good as dead if he was left to deal with the fire fight alone. 

When she finally turned to look at Lannister, Brienne was not met with condemnation but a look of admiration. A feeling of pride swelled in Brienne’s chest. She had scooted closer to him, both now being sheltered by one small outcropping of rock. When she finally had caught her breath and the shaking from the adrenaline had subsided just enough for her to be able to think again, she had managed to squeak out what had brought her barrelling across the distance, leaping over Redwynn’s still body, and slamming into her commander. 

“Humvee.”

It was all she’d been able to get out. Humvee because there was a satellite phone. Satellite phone that would get them help. Maybe they wouldn’t die. In the end neither of them died. At least not yet. 

She drives north, roaring across the landscape, the humvee navigating up the steep rock-covered hills effortlessly, and all Brienne knows is she needs to get away from Maslahat as fast as possible to somewhere where she can get a signal. 

Then they can call for an extraction, wait for the Chinooks, the _thwup thwup_ of their blades a terrifying, joyful sound. 

Then Jaime can live. 

She had thought they would both die. So had he. He had stared at her in that moment, just before he ordered her to leave him behind, then told her to call him Jaime. That was when she knew how serious it was. CPO Lannister dropped the chain of command, and suddenly he wasn’t the annoyingly handsome, irritable, flippant Navy Seal who barely glanced her way on a good day. He was just another person with too much to lose. Brienne had seen the pain in his eyes as he told her to tell his family he loved them. She saw he truly thought that this would be his end. 

Now she wants him to live. Because it should not be her telling his story, or her telling his family that he loved them. Jaime Lannister needs to live so he can tell it - tell them - himself. It was a miracle they had both made it this far. Now Brienne is determined they will not just make it out of a firefight they weren’t supposed to survive, but all the way back to the base. 

“They need to know,” Brienne whispers to herself, glancing over at Jaime again. They need to know he is a hero. He would have died for her. He looks even paler. His head lolls to one side, bouncing up and down with each bump the humvee hits. She curses silently. She needs to stop, to treat him, or all of this will be for nothing. Brienne glances in the rear view mirror and all she can see is the trail of dust she is leaving. No vehicles in pursuit. Still. They are out there. The humvee strains to climb up a steep hill, the land growing rockier. Brienne has no idea where she is, no idea what lies ahead, and no idea if the terrain is even passable. 

She looks ahead and sees a ravine to her right. They could take cover there. Or they could die there. But if she doesn't stop and treat Jaime’s wound, he will die for sure. Brienne makes a decision. Better they both have a chance to live. 

Before Brienne can overthink it, she makes a quick, sharp turn and steers the sand-colored vehicle into the opening of the ravine. She pulls the steering wheel hard to the right, at the same time hitting the brakes, so the humvee spins, ending up perpendicular to the opening she had just driven through. She slams her foot on the brake pedal until finally the vehicle skids to a halt. Brienne’s hands grip the steering wheel, and she knows if she were not holding onto it, they would shake uncontrollably. She stares straight ahead, the walls of the ravine rising high in front of her, a glimpse of the pale blue sky above. Her heart pounds, the sound filling her ears. Brienne turns to stare at the entrance of the ravine. She waits. 

If she is being followed, she’s trapped. The ravine is impassable. The walls steep, piles of rock from slides. 

If she isn’t being followed, she is hidden from sight; safe for now. 

She waits for the sound of vehicles that have followed her trail of dust and rock. She waits for gunfire. She waits to die. She’s been waiting to die since the first crack of gunfire in Maslahat.

Brienne can hear Jaime’s ragged breathing in the silence. She wants to look at him but she cannot glance over, cannot stop staring at the entrance to the ravine. He coughs a little. It sounds gurgly. Brienne ticks over her first aid. His arm. Right arm, hit. Lots of blood. Was he hit somewhere else? Internal bleeding? Airway. Breathing. Circulation. The gurgle - it could be his airway. Still, she can hear his breathing. His arm. She needs to tourniquet his arm. She needs him not to die. Not right now. Not until she can help him. She needs to know he won’t die. 

“Sir!” Brienne finally yells, wanting to hear Jaime yell back, to know he’s okay. She’s still staring out the window of the humvee, watching for the enemy, waiting for the ghosts. “CPO Lannister!”

No answer. Only the same irregular breathing. 

“JAIME!” 

A moan, followed by, “Fuuuuuuck.” 

His voice is weak, hoarse, but he’s responding. Relief floods through Brienne. They may both make it out of here after all.

The minutes tick by. Jaime breathes in and out. She counts his breaths. One. Two. Three. Brienne is skittish, jumping at every little sound. A rock tumbles. A lizard scuttles. But no sound of approaching vehicles. No gunfire glancing off the battered humvee or rocky ravine walls. Just a goddamn torturous quiet and Jaime’s struggling breaths. Nothing else. Slowly, surely, a sense of relief starts to creep in. 

They made it. 

Brienne can breath again. 

Jaime groans with pain. The sound kicks Brienne into action. She pushes open the door of the humvee and leaps out, then yelps as pain shoots through her right leg and it collapses from underneath her. Brienne pitches herself backwards before she can fall to the ground and ends up leaning against the Humvee, supporting herself on her left leg. She glances down sees her pants are dark with sticky blood. She was hit after all. She feels sick and dizzy, and she stills, waiting for the feeling to pass, willing herself not to vomit. 

Finally she starts to feel better. Pushing up onto her left leg, she gingerly tests her right and finds that while it hurts, if she is careful not to put her full body weight on it she can hobble well enough. 

Brienne makes her way around to the back of the vehicle as fast as she can and grabs the first aid kit. Ignoring the throbbing in her right thigh, she goes to the passenger side of the vehicle and tears the door open quickly. Jaime Lannister starts to slump towards her and Brienne throws the first aid kit on the ground as she throws all her weight forward to keep him from falling, wrapping her arms around his waist, her boots bracing on the ground, trying not to scream in agony. She does not want to attract attention. 

“Not today,” Brienne grunts, struggling to hold up Lannister’s dead weight, “You don’t die today.” 

She somehow manages to drag him out of the humvee and onto the rocky ground. While Brienne Tarth is no delicate maid, Jaime Lannister is almost as tall as her and just as dense and muscular, and with an injured right leg, heaving his dead weight around is no easy task. She grabs the first aid kit and quickly rips it open, locating the tourniquet by feel. Brienne is grateful for the one million times they drilled them in training on not only now to do first aid in the field but making them so familiar with the TFC first aid kit that she could probably find what she needs blindfolded. Brienne grabs a package of gloves next, rips it open and pulls them on, then she grabs Jaime’s wrist and quickly checks his pulse. She gets one right away but it’s fast. Thready.

 _Shit._

She grabs hold of his injured arm. Jaime’s eyes open briefly and he lets out a growk of pain before they close again. Another wave of relief courses through her. Good, he’s still there. She rips open the tourniquet, wraps it around his arm and pulls it tight. Jaime’s eyes open again, staring at her blankly. Brienne looks at her watch. 1415. Two hours. Two hours or the tissue will necrotize. 

Brienne sets the arm with the tourniquet down as gently as she can then picks up his left hand, glancing at it quickly. Without looking, she reaches backwards and grabs an IV start kit. Within a couple minutes she has an IV place in Jaime’s hand and is squatting over him, holding a bag of fluids that is quickly infusing into his body. When it's done, she grabs a second bag and lets that one drain into him as well. Then Brienne checks his pulse. 

Slower. 

Her shoulders sag in relief. 

She glances at his face. His eyes are closed, jaw slack, but he’s not as pale. 

Maybe she stopped the bleeding. The only sure way to know if the morning comes and Jaime Lannister isn’t dead. Brienne rocks back on her heels, then finally manages to drag herself over to one of the humvee’s massive dirt-coated wheels and collapses against it. She looks at Jaime, lying on the ground, watches the rise and fall of his chest. The last twelve hours start to catch up to her and suddenly Brienne Tarth feels a deep, painful weariness that goes down to her bones. Her leg throbs like a motherfucker. She lifts her hands to look at them. They are streaked with dirt and blood. Her own blood; Jaime’s. She stares at them as they start to shake. 

_We are alive._

Brienne frowns. When did it become _we_? 

It became _we_ the moment Jaime Lannister told her to call him by his first name and told her they would not die today. Now it’s up to her to make that come true. 

Once Brienne can think again, she grabs the satellite phone while glancing around her. It will be impossible for the Chinooks to get into this space. She’ll need to get them out into the open, which could mean they’re spotted by the enemy. She turns the phone on and looks anxiously at the screen for a long moment, then realizes that there is no signal. 

“FUCK!” 

Brienne’s voice echoes off the walls of the ravine. She resists the urge to throw the phone and instead hits the tire of the humvee with a tightly closed fist, making her hand sting.

They are stuck here for now. 

Brienne gets up after what feels like an eternity. She grabs an MRE from the back of the humvee and wolfs it down. She looks at her watch. 15 more minutes and she’ll need to check Jaime’s tourniquet. If the bleeding hasn’t stopped...Brienne shakes her head. Jaime’s arm. It’s bad. Brienne limps over to where Jaime is lying on the ground. She squats down next to him, ignoring the ache in her leg, watching his breathing one more time. She counts silently under her breath. She checks his pulse. Slower. Stronger. Brienne smiles, relieved. Grabbing the first aid kit she pulls out a vial of morphine and draws up two mg, then injects it into the IV. 

“For the pain,” Brienne says as Jaime’s eyes flicker open. He stares at her, almost as if he doesn’t see her, then says her name through cracked lips. 

“Brienne.” 

“Shhhhhh,” Brienne responds, almost automatically. 

“Thank you.” 

The light in ravine grows dimmer. The sun is setting. Brienne shivers. She knows the night will be cold. 

At some point Brienne manages to push Jaime to his feet, ignoring his grunt of pain, and tells him in the bossiest voice she can muster that it is his arm that was hurt, not his legs. He answers her with a growl of irritation, which only makes Brienne smile because irritation means Jaime is not getting worse. She pushes him into the back of the humvee and tells him to lie down, then finds two emergency blankets and covers him with one, wraps the other around herself. 

Jaime is restless in the back. He tosses and turns, whimpering with every movement. He calls out names. Tyrion. Brienne knows this is his brother. The tabloids love his exploits. Cersei. Must be his sister. Not once does he ask for his father. Just his brother, mostly his sister. Finally Brienne grabs the vial of morphine and draws up another 2 mg, then injects it into his IV. Jaime settles back into sleep but Brienne cannot shut her eyes. Pain lances through her leg. Her thoughts race. She sits in the driver’s seat of the humvee, staring into the pitch black around her, and if she glances upwards she can see the stars, a hundred miles away. The night sky is strangely beautiful and for a moment Brienne forgets everything that has happened as she stares upwards. 

Tomorrow, they will get out of here. 

Tomorrow she will drive until they find a signal and can call for extraction. 

Tomorrow they will live. 

Brienne smiles a little to herself and shivers from the cold that the thin blanket can’t hold back. She thinks about all that has happened. Pod will be amazed to hear her story. She yawns. Her eyelids grow heavy. Finally Brienne Tarth’s head falls forward and she sleeps. 

~TBC~


	8. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV, a dream sequence

Pain. 

It is all Jaime can feel. It throbs and aches and no matter what he does he cannot escape it. He curls around the pain, trying to make himself smaller. 

_Go away inside, go away inside._

“Make it stop.” 

The sound of his own voice started him. It echoes back, then is answered…

“Yes, my love.” 

Jaime startles. Cersei? Cersei is here? Isn’t he in the desert? In Afghanistan? Cersei a world away. No. It can’t be. 

_Where is he?_

Jaime’s head feels thick, clouded with confusion. Pain sears through his right arm. He feels a hand on him. There’s a voice in the distance. Jaime frowns. It’s familiar but he can’t place it. _Sir, I’m sorry sir. I have to change the tourniquet._ Then it’s gone. The pain rages. Jaime shuts his eyes, tries to push it away. 

_Go away inside, go away inside._

“Jaime?” 

His eyes fly open.

_Cersei._

He smells her perfume. Her voice is like honey, thick and sweet.

_Cersei._

He turns towards where he’d heard Cersei’s voice. He finds only emptiness. He looks around him. It’s pitch black, darker than the darkest night. 

She is here, somewhere. Calling him. He is gripped with urgency. He needs her. He must find her. 

_Cersei._

Jaime sucks in a deep breath of cool damp air. It reminds him of the tunnels beneath his childhood home, Casterly Rock. His father once told him they were bunkers, dug out by his great grandfather in WWII, in case the Germans invaded. Jaime had spent hours down there as a child, playing furious games of hide and seek with Tyrion, finding great amusement in jumping from behind corners to scare his little brother. It was terrible fun until he had grown too old for games and Cersei had turned him from such childish pursuits. 

_Cersei._

Jaime bellows out Cersei’s name, yelling it at the top of his lungs. 

Cersei’s laugh rings around him. 

“Where are you?” Jaime repeats over and over, hands reaching out in the darkness, seeking her. 

“Here, I am here, Jaime.”

He feels her hands on his face. They are warm. Real. Jaime realizes his face is wet with tears. The darkness falls away and suddenly she is there. Green eyes, golden hair, his sweet sister. Jaime takes in a deep breath and inhales her familiar, slightly floral scent. 

“Cersei,” Jaime sighs, just before their lips meet, mouths opening in a familiar dance. So much about Cersei is complicated but his lust for her never has been. She moans against his mouth, his fingers tangle in her hair. Her arms slide around his waist, sliding across bare skin. They are so close that they are almost one, just as it has been since the day they were born. 

Jaime drags himself away from Cersei’s mouth and stares into her face. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her eyes shining, and he feels another wave of desire crash through him. It has been too long apart, too many video calls and texts, and now that she is here, really here….

“Marry me,” Jaime gasps. 

They are words he has only thought, never dared to speak, a dream he has kept secreted in his heart. A dream that they could have a real life together. They spill out before he can think about what he’s saying. 

Cersei’s green eyes grow strangely cold. Her lips form a small smile that makes Jaime feel uneasy. Still, he pushes forward, determined to say what he has wanted to say for years. 

“We can go far away, somewhere where no one knows us. I’m sure there is enough money to buy us a new life. A life together. You and me.” 

Jaime has always wanted a family but they don’t have to have children. If he can just have her. If he can wake with her, hold her every night, it will be enough. Say yes, he pleads silently. 

Cersei is taciturn. She looks at him, and slowly he watches her smile grow larger, as if instead of pouring out his hopes and dreams, he has said something amusing. 

“Oh, Jaime,” Cersei sighs. It is not a sigh of passion or even agreement. It is a sigh of pity. “You’ve always been an idiot.” 

Jaime’s hands drop to his sides. 

He goes cold. 

There is a thump in the distance. Once. Twice.

“As if I would give up everything for you.” 

Tears sting his eyes. 

_...thump...thump..._

The darkness starts to creep back in. 

“Goodbye Jaime.” 

Cersei starts to fade. . 

_...thump thump thump thump…_

Jaime sinks to his knees, his arms reaching towards where Cersei had been. He is sobbing now. He shuts his eyes and lets out a scream that feels wrenched from his very soul. 

The thumping is even faster now, and there is something familiar about it. He knows this sound. What is this sound? 

_...thump thump thump thumpthumpthump thwupthwupthwupthwupthwup…_

The voice again. The familiar one. Far away.

“...for the pain, sir. They are almost here.” 

Jaime’s eyes fly open. He’s not met with the same pitch black emptiness but finds he is now ringed by men in long, hooded black robes, the hoods pulled over their faces, hiding who they are in shadows. Each figure holds a spear and the thumping sound comes from them pounding the spears on the floor in a rapid rhythm. 

_...thwup thwup thwup thwup…_

Jaime wonders if he might be dead. Are these figures come to take his immortal soul?

“NO!” 

Jaime’s voice echoes. The figures start to close in, their spears still thumping the ground. Step by step they come closer. 

“No.” 

This time it is a whisper. 

“No, no, no, no…”

_Stay with me, Sir. The Chinook. It’s almost here. Stay with me. Jaime. Stay with me. You will not die. I will not let you die. I will not…._

The voice in the distance. Jaime knows it. He knows her. Blue eyes. It’s on the tip of his tongue, he opens his mouth to say it…. 

FLASH

The darkness around him fills with a blinding, brilliant light. Jaime blinks then turns to look towards the light and sees her. The voice in the distance. 

Brienne Tarth. 

She is naked, all muscle and sinew, broad, small breasts. Jaime realizes that so is he. His mind tries to make sense of this sudden turn of events, but he cannot. Brienne turns towards Jaime then says in an oddly matter of fact way, 

“Not today, sir.” 

She throws a gun towards him. He reaches out and catches it. He sees she has one too. Brienne drops the light she’d been holding and it falls to the ground, no longer blinding Jaime. Now he can see the figures around him more clearly. Under each hood is a face of death, pale and gaunt. Their spears beat the ground, a cacophony of fury. Brienne glances over at Jaime, raises her gun and starts firing. Jaime gives her a nod and follows suit. 

_Not today._

The thwup thwup grows louder as Jaime fires over and over at the figures until the sound is so deafening he drops to the ground, covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut.

He opens them. 

He is momentarily confused because it’s neither dark or light. He’s staring up at something familiar but he’s not quite sure where he is. There are two strangers hovering over him. His vision swims. The pain rushes in. His mouth is dry. 

“We have a pulse.” 

“The arm is bad.” 

“Gotta get him to Landstuhl, fast.” 

“Pressure stable.” 

The thwup thwup sound is still there and he realizes it’s the sound of a Chinook. A fucking Chinook helicopter. 

“He’s awake,” one of the men says. Suddenly another face appears above him, and this one, he knows. Her hair is sticking up every which way. Her face is covered in streaks of dirt and blood, and filled with relief. Brienne Tarth. 

“Jaime.” 

His name coming from Brienne Tarth’s chapped, cracked lips is the most beautiful thing Jaime Lannister has ever heard. He sees that her eyes are shining with tears. Her hand grabs his and he feels her squeeze it, hard. He manages a squeeze back.

“Sir...Jaime, I mean....” Brienne trips over her words as she’s crouched over him. She flushes a deep red as if she realizes her familiarity is being witnessed, and quickly corrects herself, clearing her throat with a small cough, “CPO Lannister. We made it.”

~TBC~


	9. Downwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

“You’re banged up.” 

Brienne glares at the doctor standing in front of her. She has survived a firefight, pulled a critically wounded CPO Lannister to safety, kept him alive, and had finally gotten the Humvee to a high enough peak to get a signal on the satellite phone and call for an extraction. All he can say is ‘You’re banged up’?

How many years of medical training did it take to become a doctor so he could say stupid shit like this? 

“We’ll get you to the OR in a few minutes.” 

Whatever they had put into her IV is starting to kick in. The throbbing pain of her leg fades into the background. The doctor's voice seemed far away and her head started to feel heavy. She looks around her, staring for a long moment at the monitor they have her hooked up to, trying to make sense of the numbers on it. She shakes her head. This should make sense. 

“I…” Brienne starts, then stops. Something is bothering her, something she forgot. She pushes away the cobwebs in her brain. Then she remembers. 

“Jaime,” she asks. She should not say ‘Jaime’, should say CPO Lannister, but the pain medication has removed the guardrails that Brienne lives with. She turns to look at the doctor again and sees a brief look of pity on his face, as if he’s seen this before, the false intimacy that comes from shared trauma, the lie that your experience bonds you in indelible ways. 

“CPO Lannister was crashed to the OR.” 

“His hand?” 

“They’re trying to save it.” 

There is an edge in the doctor’s voice and that’s when Brienne knows. They will not save it. She squeezes her eyes shut and hopes the doctor doesn’t see the tears that leak out. 

_What good is a Navy Seal with one arm?_

They ended up spending two more days in Helmand. After their mad dash across the desert it had taken another full day for Brienne to finally get a signal on the satellite phone. When she finally saw those green bars she had whooped with joy. It would be another 8 hours before she heard the joyous sound of an approaching Chinook. 

Two days. 

Two days of Jaime hopped on morphine, delirious from pain, drifting in and out of consciousness. She had watched him carefully, worried he was getting a fever, that the tourniquet had damaged the tissue of his arm, that infection was setting in. His eyes would open, not seeing her, not seeing anything, and he would call out his sister’s name. 

_Cersei, Cersei, Cersei._

_I love you._

_Don’t go._

Helmand makes Brienne an unwilling keeper of Jaime Lannister’s secrets. Maybe someday she will tell him those secrets are in good hands. She does not understand all the complexities of why Jaime Lannister called out the name of his twin sister with such anguish. She has a reasonable idea. 

“He’s alive.” 

The doctor’s words startle her. Brienne had forgotten she was lying on a gurney in the emergency room of the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. She had forgotten she had endured a jarring, teeth chattering ride in a Chinook to get there, her eyes never leaving Jaime. She was back in the desert, hunched in the driver's seat of the humvee, leg aching, praying for a miracle from a god she didn’t believe in, praying they will live. She blinks at the doctor. He smiles. 

“You kept him alive, got him here. That counts for something.” 

Brienne shakes her head. Something in her chest tightens. Jaime is going to lose his hand. She’s not sure it counts. Suddenly she realizes she is drained. She’s been running on nothing for days now. She turns her head away from the doctor and closes her eyes. She is tired, so tired. 

“We’re going to take you to surgery now.” 

Brienne does not answer. She keeps her eyes shut as she feels the gurney start to move. 

“I’ll give you some medication to help you relax,” a voice says. Brienne nods silently. The tears that had threatened to leak from her eyes now wet her cheeks. 

When she opens them again she is in recovery. 

“Hello,” an unfamiliar voice says cheerfully. Brienne blinks and stares at the nurse standing by her bed.

“Water,” he says with a slight southern drawl. His accent sounds like home. Brienne tries to smile and realizes that her mouth is dry, tongue thick. She cannot speak. She nods ‘yes’ and the nurse hands her a paper cup with a straw. Brienne sucks up the ice cold liquid, emptying the whole cup. She hands it back to the nurse and offers him a grateful smile. 

“Lannister?” Brienne’s voice is a dry rasp. 

The nurse offers her a kindly, pitying smile. It’s the same kind of pity she’d seen on the doctor’s face, as if he’s seen this before. 

“Still in surgery.”

Brienne frowns, her brow creasing with worry. The nurse puts his hand on her shoulder and his face softens. 

“CPO Lannister is stable. He’ll be okay. They are good here. Best in the world. You did your best. You got him here.” 

Brienne can’t answer. His hand. He’s going to lose his hand. Is that her best? She closes her eyes, trying to push away the feeling that she could have done better. 

“And now you get to go home” 

Brienne’s eyes fly open. 

“Home?”

She’d never thought to ask what happens next. 

“The States,” her nurse says. “You need to rehab. They won’t send you back to Afghanistan.” 

_Home._

Brienne pictures the cottage, the blue waters of the gulf, hot days that are only broken by the cool breeze that comes off the water. As much as she feels an abject failure, injured on her first mission, she can’t help but long for the peace that home might bring. 

“We haven’t seen anyone out of Helmand in a long time. Not sure why you were sent there…”

“You haven’t?” Brienne is about to ask more when a sharp, sudden pain jolts through her thigh. She grimaces and sits up, grabbing at her leg. Her eyes water and she clenches her jaw, trying not to yelp. 

“Pain meds,” the nurse says, turning away from her. “I’ll grab some.” 

Two days later Brienne learns she’ll head home the following morning. An NCIS officer sits by her bed, her uniform neat and tidy, her demeanor business-like as she tells Brienne the next steps. 

“You will go to San Diego for rehab.” 

Brienne smiles politely.

“When do I get to go back out?” 

The officer smiles back politely. 

“When the investigation is done.” 

“Investigation?”

“Your mission, it was, um, unusual. It will be looked into. When the investigation is done, you’ll be reassigned. You will need time to rehab anyway. 

“Back to Afghanistan?” 

Her mouth twists a little.

“No.” 

Brienne frowns. The officer is holding something back. She thinks back to the nurse. 

_We haven’t seen anyone out of Helmand in a long time. Not sure why you were sent there…_

Why, and why an investigation? 

“And CPO Lannister?”

“His case doesn’t involve you.” 

_His case…not hers. Not theirs. But they were together…._

Something about this whole situation doesn’t sit right. Brienne can’t quite put her finger on it. The officer is evasive. They never should have been in Helmand, but they were. It was her, Jaime, Redwynn and Towers in the desert, yet now her case and Jaime’s aren’t connected. 

The officer gives Brienne a fleeting look of carefully cultivated sympathy. 

“He’ll be well taken care of. You did your job, Tarth. You saved his life.”

Brienne feels annoyed at the officer’s platitudes. Ever since they pulled them out of Afghanistan, everyone has been telling her that she’s a hero, that she had saved Jaime Lannister’s life. Their praise feels hollow to Brienne. It was her job. Any other Seal would have done the same. And being a hero doesn’t change the fact that Redwynn and Towers didn’t make it out. Or that Jaime will lose his hand. No matter how many times she is reassured, Brienne can’t shake the feeling that somehow she has failed. She can’t stop this nagging sense that there is something she is missing. She wants to ask more about Jaime, about what happens next, about what place there is for a Navy Seal with one hand. She wants to ask about Helmand, about why being sent there was unusual. Instead Brienne pushes all her questions aside. 

This woman will not answer them anyway. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Be ready to go at 0600.”

“Yes, sir,” Brienne answers crisply. 

She doesn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning. At one point she wakes, panicked, still stuck in a nightmare where she is trying to pull Jaime from where he lies on the ground, gunfire all around her. She is yelling his name, begging him to get up, to help her, because if he cannot help her, they will die….

_Jaime. Jaime. Please move… you must move…._

Her eyes fly open. She is breathing hard, her heart pounding, and instead of the dull brightness of the desert, all she can see is darkness around her. Slowly she realizes she is not back in Helmand, that she is in the same hospital room. Brienne stares up at the ceiling and tries to hold back a sob. 

San Diego is sunny. The ocean is bright, blue, stretching out forever. Brienne stares down at it as the plane descends. 

Brienne arrives at rehab on crutches after a long, uncomfortable flight on a transport plane, her standard issue duffle bag thrown over her back, her leg throbbing. The first thing she sees when she opens up her computer is an email from her father telling her he heard that his daughter is a hero. Brienne winces a little as she reads it, then responds, thanking him, and asking if maybe she will see him when she returns home. Most likely not. 

A week later she gets an email from Podrick. He says things aren’t the same without her. As a matter of fact, things are strange, but no worries. Brienne thinks losing two men, and having their CPO badly injured must have an effect on morale. 

_Maybe we can get together when I get a chance to get back to the States. I have something you need to see._

Brienne frowns. Something about Pod’s email feels off, but a lot of things feel off these days. It’s adjustment, the counselor they make her see once a week tells her. He is an older man with a kind face and he tells her to call him Davos. Dr. Seaworth is too formal. She scowls at him and tells him he has a funny name. She’s been through a lot, Davos says, it’s normal to feel off. Brienne shrugs. Maybe. 

She graduates from rehab in two months, impressing everyone with how hard she works. 10 weeks after being pulled out of Helmand, Brienne Tarth finally goes home. 

The day she unlocks the door of her childhood home is the day Brienne finally feels something let go. Home is a small, white French creole cottage set back from the beach, neat and clean, and the only home Brienne has ever known. She pushes the door open, letting her duffle bag fall onto the floor and looks around at the familiar walls. For the first time since being airlifted out of Helmand, Brienne feels peace. 

It’s short-lived. 

Davos the counselor had called it PTSD. He gave her his card the day she left, telling her there was more work that could be done and she can call him any time. She had thanked him politely. The card is sitting on the table next to her bed. Brienne never called Dr. Seaworth.

Brienne doesn’t call it PTSD. She calls it boredom. Some days she feels like she's crawling out of her skin. She’s itching to get back into the field. 

Maybe going back out will stop the dreams. 

The island isn’t much different than she remembers. There’s the same small grocery store with over-priced goods and questionable produce, the same post office/city hall/laundromat that serves the occasional boat that cruises by. It's the same long drive into the tiny town from the cottage. Even though nothing has changed, everything still seems strange. She’d wanted to come home. Now she feels as if she doesn’t belong.

Brienne is restless. She can’t escape Helmand. She goes back to the desert every night, begs Jaime to live every night, wakes in the darkness, drenched with sweat. The dreams are always the same. Jaime Lannister is there. She cannot save him. She tries. She never can. She wakes every morning, her head aching and eyes bleary, pulls on leggings and a jog bra, and goes for a run. She runs for hours, until the sun shines hot and sweat stings her eyes. It never helps. 

You did all you could, the therapist had told her. 

No amount of work changes the fact that Redwynn and Towers died. Or that Jaime lost his hand. 

No amount of work can change the fact that she failed. Brienne Tarth doesn’t need more therapy. She needs absolution for her sins. 

When Brienne has been home for a month, something shifts. Her body is healed. Her heart still aches, but not as much. She wakes one morning, slips out of bed, and and realizes that it was one of those rare nights when she did not dream. Brienne stretches upwards, the cottage floor cold under her feet. She stands in the middle of the room, and for the first time in a long time she feels strong. She feels like her old self. 

She pulls on her clothes, slips on her running shoes, and steps out onto the porch. The morning is clear and quiet. Gulls wail in the distance, drifting over the sapphire blue water. Brienne takes in a deep breath of salt air. She goes up on her toes, bounces a little on the balls of her feet then starts running down the beach. Her feet hit the sand, her right thigh aches but not too much. She glories in how it feels to move. Legs pound, arms pump, she breathes in deeply, body craving oxygen. Sweat forms on her hairline, her straw hair bleached almost white from the sun. Her muscles bunch, she keeps her shoulders loose, her hands in fists. 

Brienne runs. She runs as if her life depends on it. She runs with the same determination she used to keep Jaime Lannister alive and get them out of Helmand. She runs until her chest burns and she is gasping for air. Finally she stops, leaning over, her hands braced on her thighs as she struggles to catch her breath. 

When she is no longer panting and her heart rate has slowed, Brienne straightens and looks around her. The beach stretches onward. The water sparkles blue. She thinks she could run forever, and smiles to herself because she can hear Davos agree with her, then point out that even if she did, her dreams would still follow. She looks at the clumps of beach grass, the cypress trees that line the horizon. This place. Her island home. Having any kind of peace feels almost impossible these days but here she can find it in bits and pieces: a rare night of dreamless sleep; a run along the beach under the burgeoning glare of the sun. 

Brienne turns and starts to jog back to the cottage. She has run from the ghosts enough today. Her pace is slow. Her body tired. She is thinking about the pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge and a good book on the porch, a cool breeze off the ocean, as she sees the cottage in the distance. Only when she gets closer does she realize someone is on the porch. 

For a moment she thinks her father has come for a surprise visit, and she wonders why he did not just let himself in. She raises her hand in a half wave when she realizes it’s not her father on her porch. It’s Podrick Payne. 

“Brienne!” 

Podrick stands as she approaches. He’s leaning on a cane. Brienne frowns. 

“Pod!” 

She bounds up the steps and quickly embraces her friend. 

“What happened?” 

“Long story.” 

His voice is tight. Brienne stops and looks at him.

“Pod?”

His face shifts. She sees something. Fear. His eyes look haunted. This is not the Podrick Payne she left in Afghanistan. 

“Inside,” Pod says. Brienne nods and pushes open the door of the cottage. Podrick follows behind her. She motions to the couch and goes to the fridge then returns, two open bottles of beer dangling between her fingers. Pod offers her a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as she hands him one then throws herself into the easy chair next to the couch. Brienne looks at her friend then takes a long drink from the ice cold bottle. 

“I don’t usually drink this early,” she says, knowing that Pod will smile because he knows that Brienne Tarth barely drinks at all. 

Pod doesn’t smile. 

“What happened?” Brienne finally asks, glancing at the cane leaning on the couch next to Pod. Pod looks at the cane, then at her. 

“Shot. My knee.”

“Oh Pod.” 

“They said it was enemy fire.” 

Brienne remembers the sounds of bullets ricocheting off rock. Pod’s mouth is a thin line. 

“I don’t think it was.” 

Brienne stills, the beer gripped in her hand. She looks at Podrick. He looks back, his face pale. She glances down at his hands folded in his lap. They are trembling. 

“I found out something, Brienne. And I think they know. I think they know and they tried to kill me.”

“They?” 

“Targaryen.”

“Aerys Targaryen?”

Pod nods. Brienne’s head is spinning. 

_We haven’t seen anyone out of Helmand in a long time. Not sure why you were sent there…_

Aerys Targaryen knows. He’s the one person who knows why Helmand. 

“Targaryen, his buddies. I emailed you. Do you remember? I think they saw it. I don’t know how.”

Brienne nods. She remembers the email. She’d thought nothing of it. 

“You said you found something out.” 

Podrick nods. 

“I saw it. I saw him.”

“Him?”

“Targaryen. He was killing people, Brienne. Innocent people. I have pictures.”

“Pictures?” Brienne feels like an idiot, repeating everything Pod tells her, but she can’t help it because what Pod is saying is shocking. Pod nods. 

“I’ve been trying to tell someone, but no one will listen. Aerys Targaryen is respected. No one wants to hear that he’s a murderer. They tell me they will look into it but nothing happens. Brienne, look at the pictures. Look….” 

Podrick reaches in his pocket, pulls out his phone and taps at it a few times before he hands it to Brienne. She stares at the pictures, unable to comprehend what she’s seeing. 

_Master Chief Aerys Targaryen burning a village._

_Master Chief Aerys Targaryen shooting a civilian._

“I made copies, put them on a flash drive and put them in a safe place.” 

Brienne nods. Smart. Pod has always been smart. 

“Now I need your help.” 

Brienne looks at Pod as she digests his words. How can Brienne Tarth help? Does he want her to go to her father? She can’t. It must be handled by the chain of command, and if she goes running to her daddy, no one will take her seriously. 

“How?” Brienne starts. 

“Lannister.” 

_Jaime_ Brienne feels her chest clench at his name. Brienne gapes at what Pod has said. 

“Jaime?” 

“They call you Lannister’s whore.” 

Brienne feels her face flush.

“I thought….” Pod stumbles over his words. 

Brienne finishes his sentence. “That we were fucking?” 

_Half a corpse, half a god._

Even delirious and dying, Jaime Lannister had been beautiful. 

Pod turns red. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “He won’t talk to me, but you were out there with him. You saved his life. He will talk to you Brienne. And they will listen to him. He can take the pictures, tell them, make them stop Targaryen. You can make him….”

“Pod, I can’t....” 

“You have to.” 

“I…”

Pod looks at Brienne, his face serious. 

“Why did we do all this, Brienne? The training. The fighting. Why did we get into this in the first place?”

Brienne can’t answer. She is silent for a long moment as her head spins with all that Pod has told her. 

“To make the world a better place,” she finally says. “To help our country. To protect people.” 

“Is this protecting people?” 

Pod holds out his phone again. It’s Aerys standing with his gun pointed at a man on the ground. A villager who never did anything to hurt him. A person they were supposed to protect. 

“I can still see those innocent people, Brienne. I see them in my dreams.” Pod puts his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “I haven’t slept for so long.” 

Neither has Brienne. Helmand haunts her. Helmand, the place they never should have gone in the first place. Slowly something that’s been elusive this whole time starts to come into focus. 

“Helmand,” Brienne whispers, staring at Podrick. “It was a doomed mission from the beginning. When I was in the hospital, the nurse said they hadn’t seen people coming out of Helmand for a long time. If that was the case, why were we sent? If they knew we would be ambushed, why send us to our deaths?”

_Unless we were meant to die._

Brienne goes cold. Pod said they shot him. Did Aerys Targaryen send Brienne, Jaime, Redwynn and Towers to die? 

“Help me, Brienne,” Pod says quietly. “I know you. I know you will not stand by and let this happen. Jaime Lannister, he’ll talk to you. I know he will. And you can convince him to help me.”

Brienne nods, staring at Podrick Payne. He looks gaunt, weary, and she knows how that feels. 

“Okay,” Brienne says quietly, “I’ll help you.” 

~TBC~


	10. Blowback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

Jaime’s eyes blink open and the first thing he notices is the brightness. It’s not the same searing brightness of the desert sun but a cold, artificial, unforgiving light. There is a man hovering over him, a blue mask over his face, and Jaime struggles for a long moment to make sense of what he’s seeing. 

“He’s awake.” 

“Push more midazolam. I’m increasing the propofol.”

Jaime tries to sit up. He can’t. There are straps holding him down. There’s something in his throat. He fights the urge to gag then turns his head to the right, then the left. Everywhere around him is shiny metal. People in masks are staring at him. 

“Respirations 34.” 

“He’s breathing over the vent.” 

“CPO Lannister?”

Another face above him.

“It’s okay. I know this must be scary.” 

Jaime nods, unable to speak. It’s cold. So cold. 

“You’re going to be okay.” 

The face starts to fade. 

“Just try to relax. Take in a deep breath.”

Everything fades to black. 

When Jaime wakes again, his hand is gone. He doesn’t know it at first. He wakes alone, lying in a hospital bed, a sharp antiseptic smell in the air, the sound of the soft gentle beep of his heart rate in the background. His mouth is dry. Jaime tries to swallow and he realizes that his throat is sore. His head is pounding and feels heavy, like a bowling ball, as Jaime lifts it from the pillow and looks around. It’s then that he sees the bandages on his right arm. _His arm. Flesh and bone tearing. They shot him in the arm._

He lifts it off the bed. He stares at the bandaged stump. His vision blurs from the tears that wet his eyes. 

He can’t remember much since he was shot. What memories he has are vague and blurred. Brienne Tarth yelling at him to walk. Waking in the dark in agony, his arm throbbing. Her hand brushing across his forehead. 

Brienne. Where is the warrior woman? He closes his eyes and pictures her dirt-streaked face.

_Stay with me, Sir. The Chinook. It’s almost here. Stay with me. Jaime. Stay with me. You will not die. I will not let you die. I will not…._

She saved him. 

They will tell him what she did later, how she dragged his wounded, sorry ass through Helmand, kept him alive, got them both out. He was supposed to die. She didn’t let him. 

He has another surgery. They put his arm back together with pins and plates. He smiles and asks them if they can give him a new hand. Grow one in a jar, get him a cadaver hand. 

The doctors clustering around his bed laugh. Jaime laughs with them. The laughter never reaches his eyes. 

Every night he dreams he is back in Helmand. Every night he wakes screaming, losing his hand all over again. 

A week passes. 

“There will be an investigation.” 

Jaime is sitting in the sunshine. The woman from NCIS smiles politely. Jaime doesn’t smile back.

“We want to know what went wrong.” 

A muscle in Jaime’s jaw twitches. _Fucking Aerys._

“Master Chief Targaryen says he advised you not to go.” 

Jaime shuts his eyes. _Fuck._ The fix is in. For a moment, Jaime considers telling her the truth. It would be so easy to bare his soul. But he’s a Seal. There is a code. Aerys had gone over the line but it wasn’t like Jaime hadn’t gone right up to that very same line over and over again. 

“I’m tired,” Jaime growls. He stands up from the table they’re sitting at and walks away. 

Two more weeks. The pain is better. They take the dressings off his stump. The nurse smiles and tells him how good it looks. Jaime can’t answer. His hand is gone. 

The dreams are the same. 

Someone from rehab psych starts visiting him. That’s what his badge reads. He has a nice face. He tells Jaime that his name is Samwell Tarley but his friends call him Sam. He uses words like ‘trauma’ and ‘PTSD’. 

“You’re not my friend,” Jaime growls.

“Oh, I know,” Sam answers awkwardly, although he looks like he would like to be, “I work for the Navy and the Navy wants you better. If we become friends in the process….”

Sam shrugs. Jaime ignores him. He’s been keeping secrets his whole life. He won’t be spilling them to Sam.

One week later they tell him he will go home. 

“It will be an adjustment.” 

Jaime stares blankly at Tarley who’s sitting next to his bed. 

“They were going to send you to San Diego…”

Brienne is in San Diego. Suddenly Jaime wants to see her. Brienne Tarth, with her guileless blue eyes and stubborn determination. Maybe Brienne would make sense of all this. She had left two weeks ago. He’d asked. He wishes he’d been able to say goodbye, thank her….

“Your father pulled some strings.”

Jaime turns his head away. Tywin hasn’t talked to Jaime since he’s been at Landstuhl. There was an email, a brief acknowledgment that Jaime wasn’t dead. Now he learns his father’s way of showing how much he cares is to use his influence to take control of Jaime’s discharge. He can almost hear Tywin’s voice chastising him. He knows what he would say. 

_You are a Lannister, Jaime._

Lannisters do not settle for the same rehab everyone else gets. They get only the best. 

“They’ll get you a prosthetic.” 

Jaime wants to snap at Samwell Tarley, with his earnest eyes, pitying voice and do-good agenda. What good would a fake hand be? He will still be a cripple. He can’t be a Seal with a fake hand. He lifts his right arm and stares at the fleshy stump, a deep red scar across the end. Useless, Jaime thinks. 

“Do you have any questions, CPO Lannister?” 

Jaime drops his arm. He has a hundred questions. None that Samwell Tarley can answer. 

“Transport leaves at oh six hundred.”

Tarley gets up and leaves. His job is done and now he’ll move on to someone else. Jaime is glad to see him go. 

His father rents Jaime an apartment near the rehab facility. He emails Jaime the directions and the code for the door. When Jaime steps through the doorway, weary from travelling all day, he does not see the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the city, or the expensive mid-century modern furniture. All he sees is Cersei. 

“Jaime,” she breathes. 

She is dressed in a white blouse and skirt. It’s the color of innocence, though Jaime knows she is far from innocent. Her blonde hair cascades down her back. Her gold-flecked green eyes watch him carefully as he drops his duffle bag and starts to walk towards her. 

_Finally._

Maybe there is something good about losing his hand. He is here with her. They are together again, after years apart. She is so beautiful she takes his breath away. 

Jaime reaches for her. He moves to cradle her face between his hands. Instead of fingers, the fleshy end of his stump brushes her cheek. What was once a deft movement is now clumsy and awkward. Jaime freezes. He forgot. Goddammit to hell, he forgot. He stares as Cersei grimaces and turns her face away from his stump. 

“Can you put that down?” 

_That._

The lust Jaime had felt just moments before fades into the background and fury replaces it. Fury at Cersei. Fury at losing his hand. Fury at feeling helpless and impotent. Fury at how much he has lost. 

Jaime wants to push his sweet sister away, to tell her to get the fuck out. Instead he kisses her, harsh and angry, ignoring her muffled protests against his lips that there are windows, someone might see. He does not care. He kisses her, his good arm snaking around her back, his lame one hanging by his side. 

_Can you put that down?_

He walks her backwards towards what he assumes is the bedroom, but if he cannot find it, he will take her in the hall on the floor or fuck her hard against the wall. Cersei gives as good as he does, her hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his uniform. Her mouth is rough and greedy. 

When they are done and Jaime is spent and naked, his cock soft, Cersei picks up his stump and stares at it. Jaime watches her as she looks at it then traces the scar across the end with the tip of her finger. He waits for her sympathy, for her to tell him this is wrong, that losing his hand is unfathomable. He waits for her to press her lips to the skin, to kiss away some of the pain. 

She drops his arm back onto the duvet. 

“At least I don’t have to worry about you taking my place in the company. How will you even use a computer?”

Cersei rolls away from him and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning down to grab the clothes she had discarded on the floor. Jaime stares up at the ceiling, his jaw tight, his eyes moist. He feels stupid to have expected something more from Cersei. How could he have forgotten her cruelty? 

“Robert and I are going to a gala tonight.” 

Cersei’s tone is almost apologetic, but not really. She shrugs on her blouse and starts to button it. 

Jaime doesn’t answer. There would have been a time he would have begged her to linger, would have told her that she could tell her boor of a husband she had a headache, pleaded with her to stay with him, and they would have fucked all night. He says nothing. He doesn’t want her to stay. 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow?”

Cersei doesn’t seem to notice the silence before he shrugs.

“Sure.” 

She won’t be back tomorrow. They both know that. 

It’s only when Cersei leaves and the room has grown gray with twilight that Jaime finally thinks about has been plaguing him since he woke to find his hand gone. 

_Why didn’t I die?_

He is fitted for a fucking prosthetic. He covers his stump with a thin sock then puts on the hand and stares at it. It is cold, dead, useless. 

_It will be an adjustment._

They all say the same thing as Samwell fucking Tarley. The physical therapist, the counselor he sees once a week. Jaime nods his agreement every time. He tells them what they want to hear. They don’t understand that none of this makes sense. He lost his hand and he’s supposed to get a fake, dead hand and go on like nothing happened. He lost his hand and he’s supposed to still be a Seal? He almost died in a firefight and he’s supposed to dream of it every night and still wake up and go on like nothing happened? 

Only one other person might understand and she’s all the way across the country. Jaime wonders if she also feels that little makes sense these days. 

He tries to call her one afternoon. He’s not even sure why. He just wants to make sense of things and maybe she can help. He picks up the phone and dials the number for the San Diego rehab facility. When the operator answers he asks to be put through to Brienne Tarth’s room. His heart pounds as he wonders what he will say. How will he explain calling her. 

“We have no one here by that name.” 

Jaime hangs up the phone. 

His father doesn’t visit. He had called the night he arrived to make sure he got in and the place was to his liking. Jaime has said all the right things. Tywin had told Jaime he was looking for a place in the company. Jaime said he needed to get through rehab first.

One day the phone rings and it’s Tywin. 

“There’s a gala at the house tonight,” he tells Jaime. Jaime says nothing. He cares little for galas. “I want you to attend. I think having a war hero there will go a long way.” 

Jaime still says nothing.

“And wear that goddamn hand.” 

His father hangs up. 

Tyrion shows up for the gala and gets drunk. Jaime wears his hand, like his father asks. He and Cersei fuck in one of the upstairs bathrooms. It’s the first time he’s seen her since the night he came home. 

Jaime finishes his rehab. They graduate him and the staff stands in a semicircle around him, telling him they are proud and wishing him well. Someone gives him a shiny balloon in garish colors that says ‘Good Luck’ in cartoonish letters. He takes it home and it floats around the apartment like some sort of ghoulish spector. 

He calls NCIS. Asks about the investigation. Ongoing, they say. He asks when it will be over. They don’t know. Then what is he supposed to do? The person on the other end of the line suggests he take a vacation. Jaime almost throws the phone across the room. 

His hair grows out, curling around his ears. He stops shaving. He can’t shave with his clumsy left hand. He stays up late and sleeps in even later. There is nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Cersei texts him. It’s a picture of her open legs and wet cunt. Jaime sighs and sends her back a dick pic. She doesn’t call or come over. 

Tyrion does. He walks in one day with a bag of groceries and tells Jaime he’s going to make him dinner. Jaime looks at him and tells him he’s pretty sure he never gave him the code to his apartment. He should call ahead of time. Barging in might end up with him seeing something he didn’t expect. 

Tyrion laughs. “She’s rather busy these days, brother,” Tyrion says, an eyebrow cocked. 

Jaime glares at him. What Jaime and Cersei do is an open secret when it comes to Tyrion, but he’s not sure he is entirely comfortable with his brother being so casual about it. 

Tyrion puts together a reasonable pasta and they eat together, Jaime listening while Tyrion regales him with tales of his latest conquest. Jaime manages to laugh. When Tyrion has cleared the dishes and they are both sitting on the long leather couch looking out at the city, Tyrion clears his throat and looks at Jaime. 

“You are not well, Jaime.” 

Jaime looks away from the scrutinizing gaze of his younger brother. 

“You aren’t eating. You look like hell.”

Jaime stares out over the city. The buildings are beautiful in the evening light, the last bit of the setting sun glaring off shiny glass towers. The sky above is streaked with pink and orange clouds. It’s breathtaking. Jaime sees none of it. 

Tyrion is the smartest person he knows. He sees through Jaime’s facade. Jaime could tell him the truth: that his dreams are terrible and despite this, he cannot stop dreaming; tell him that without his hand, he is nothing. Instead Jaime lies. 

“I’m fine.” 

Tyrion stares at him then sighs and, puts his glass of wine to his lips and drains it.

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

Tyrion leaves and Jaime stays sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness. The skyline stands in contrast to the night sky and the lights sparkle. Jaime plays Tyrion’s words over and over in his head. 

_You are not well, Jaime._

There is a knock on the door. Jaime glances towards it. It’s probably Tyrion again, knocking to humor him. His father only sees him when he needs him. Cersei is disgusted by him, except when he plunges his good fingers into her cunt. He could ignore the knock and leave Tyrion standing in the hallway, but Jaime knows he won’t. He is his brother, no matter how different they are, one tall and blonde, the other small and misshapen. More than that, he is the only friend Jaime has 

Jaime stands, the muscles in his legs feeling stiff. He pads across the cold hardwood floor towards the door and pulls it open. 

“You forgot something?” he says before he realizes that it’s not Tyrion standing in his doorway. His eyes go wide. It’s Brienne Tarth. 

She is as tall and massive as he remembers, her face broad and freckled. She is looking at him with eyes wide with shock. He realizes he must look terrible with his hair long and a scraggly beard. 

“Sir?” Brienne’s voice is hoarse. “Jaime? What are you doing? What has happened to you.”

Something inside Jaime crumbles. 

He should lie. He should tell her he is fine. Instead he tells her the truth he has been holding back from everyone around him. 

“Dying. I’m dying.” 

Brienne steps forward and Jaime feels her arms come around him as he starts to sink towards the floor. 

~TBC~


	11. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must sincerely thank the most incredible [Ro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann) for the banner. It is beautiful and perfect, and makes my heart sing. Thank you for bringing my little fic to life. xoxo

Brienne Tarth brings Jaime Lannister home. 

She had been unable to contain her shock at seeing Jaime. His face was gaunt and there were dark circles under his eyes. The neat and tidy military haircut had grown out. He had a beard. He’d stood looking at her, then, without thinking, her eyes went to where his right hand would be. His gaze had followed hers and she had watched as his face crumpled. 

He told her he was dying. The words ripped from him. He had pitched forward, as if he had no strength left and Brienne had thrown her arms around him, catching him. 

“Helmand. It was a trap,” Jaime had mumbled against her shoulder as she struggled to hold him up. “I should never have let him...should have refused.”

Brienne had gone cold. 

_Him. Aerys. Fuck._

It was then she knew. 

Brienne brings Jaime home. 

It’s an impulsive decision, made in a split second. She helped him pack and ushered him to her rental car. He bought them both first class tickets. When Brienne protested he offered her a sardonic smile and flashed his credit card as he told her he’s a Lannister and can afford it. He slept during the flight, head dropping to rest on his chest; when Brienne tried to readjust him he just ended up with his head on her shoulder. Finally, hours later, they arrived at the cottage. 

Brienne brings Jaime home. 

It seems like the right thing. Because she did not pull him out of hell only to have him die now. Because he is suffering. And so is she. Because he is the only one who can possibly understand. Because something about Helmand stinks and if they can figure this out, maybe she find peace. Maybe they both can.

“What the….” Pod exclaims when she walks in with Jaime Lannister in tow. “I thought….” 

She had told Pod to wait at the cottage. She would go see Jaime, then when she returned, they would figure out the next step. Brienne realizes she should have texted Podrick to tell him she wouldn’t be returning alone. She’d been so occupied with dragging Jaime Lannister around, she hadn’t even thought to tell him. 

“Change of plan.” Brienne’s voice is curt. 

“Payne,” Jaime grunts at Pod.

Brienne ignores the look Pod shoots her as she walks past him. She leads Jaime through the living room and down the hallway to the spare room. She opens the door and gestures at the white wrought iron bed with its eyelet lace bedspread. She fights the urge to apologize for the accommodations, remembering his sleek modern apartment. She had glanced around, standing in his living room, waiting for him to pack his clothes. It was beautiful, the kind of place only a lot of money could buy. 

Jaime doesn’t seem to care. He walks past her and puts his duffle bag on the bed then turns to look at her. 

“Thank you, Brienne.” 

His words are candid. She doesn't know how to respond. She feels heat rising on her cheeks. 

“I need to talk to Pod.” 

She turns and leaves the room. 

Pod is still in the living room. He watches her as she walks past him. Not wanting Jaime to hear them, Brienne heads for the porch and gestures for Podrick to follow her. Once they are on the porch, Pod turns to her, dumbfounded.

“What the hell, Brienne. You brought Lannister here?” 

Brienne says nothing. She can’t explain. Helmand has left an imprint on both of them, and seeing Jaime Lannister wrecked, she could not leave him. She knows this is not what Pod expected. 

“Did you ask him to help us?”

Brienne worries at her bottom lip. 

“No.” 

“Will you?” 

She nods, yes. She means it. Pod scowls. 

“God dammit Brienne. I can’t sit around here while you and Lannister figure this out. We’re already connected, if they find out I’m here, that Lannister is here….”

Before Pod can say more, Brienne interrupts him. 

“You don’t need to stay. Send me the pictures.” 

She will tell Jaime, show him the proof of Targaryen’s crimes, but not now. Not when she has held the man they call The Lion in her arms as he told her he was dying. He needs to heal. So does she. Then….

They will both need to be strong for what will happen when they show the world who Aerys Targaryen really is. 

“I just need a little time.”

Pod sighs. “I trust you, Brienne.” 

He picks up his phone and moments later she has the pictures. She makes a mental note to put them on a thumb drive the next day. 

“Stay safe,” Brienne tells Pod. He nods solemnly. 

“Just...just hurry Brienne. Aerys knows I’m talking to people. He has to. I’m pretty sure one of his men shot me….” 

His voice fades. They both know what Podrick is saying. Brienne thinks of Helmand. Jaime’s words ring in her head. 

_“Helmand. It was a trap._

Brienne nods. There is nothing else she can say.

Pod goes back into the cottage to get his things. Brienne stares out over the gulf, watching the waves lap gently on the sand. Pod returns. Brienne glances over at her friend then her eyes shift back to looking at the water.

“We need Lannister,” he says quietly. “You’re protecting him. I’m not blind Brienne. I know you went through a lot together…”

A warning. 

“Just...be careful, Brienne. He’s still one of them.”

Brienne watches as Pod makes his way down the walkway. She stares after him long after he has faded from her view. A cool breeze blows. Finally Brienne goes back inside to find Jaime Lannister sitting on the couch in the living room. He looks up as she enters the room but doesn’t ask what has happened or why Podrick has left. Brienne sees he is holding a book and she recognizes one of the photo albums from the bookshelf. She bites back the urge to tell him to stop prying, remembering it was her decision to bring him into her home.

“You were kind of a cute kid.” 

Brienne frowns. Jaime flashes her a smile. 

“What happened?” 

The insult falls flat. 

“I’ll make us some food.” 

Brienne turns and leaves Jaime sitting with the photo album and goes to root around the fridge. She silently curses Pod for eating all her food but ends up finding a third of a loaf of sliced bread, some cheese, lettuce and tomato. Fifteen minutes later she has two plates with grilled cheese sandwiches and a somewhat tolerable salad to the left of the stove. Brienne picks them up and turns to set them on the small kitchen table and finds Jaime leaning against the door jamb of the kitchen doorway, watching her with careful eyes. His hair hangs in his eyes and Brienne has the sudden urge to brush it back. 

“You can cook.” 

“Kid food,” Brienne shrugs and hands one of the plates to Jaime. 

“Not any kid food I ever got.” 

_Poor little rich boy._ If Brienne knew him better, she might tease him. She says nothing. 

He walks over to the table and sits down. Brienne pulls out the chair opposite and folds herself into. She watches Jaime wolf down the sandwich as if he was starving, still trying to reconcile CPO Jaime Lannister with the scruffy man sitting across from her: his confidence and bravado he had worn with ease replaced by barely concealed anguish. 

When Jaime has cleaned his plate, chasing the last leaves of lettuce with his fork, Brienne finally finds the courage to ask him what has been plaguing her. 

“Did he send us out to die, Jaime?” 

Jaime’s face grows serious and his hand with the fork stills. The quiet between them is deafening. His silence is answer enough. 

He did. 

“And you knew?” 

He looks away. His fork clatters to his plate. Brienne’s heart pounds.

“I suspected.” He still does not look at her. “Helmand wasn’t safe. They had stopped sending people in….” 

Brienne’s heart pounds loudly in her ears. 

“You didn’t stop him?” 

He looks at her now, green eyes meet blue. His eyes are filled with regret. “I couldn’t,” Jaime whispers. “Chain of command.”

“More than I might have been able to!” Brienne is angry. “I trusted you to keep me safe.” Jaime flinches at her words.The truth hurts. “You decided to die with us instead.” 

It’s a statement of truth. Jaime’s face shifts and now Brienne sees loathing. He huffs out a small laugh and looks down at the table, muttering almost under his breath.

“You ruined that, didn’t you, Tarth.” 

It’s her turn to flinch. The person whose life she saved has just told her he wishes she’d left him to die. Brienne can no more accept that she should have left him to die than she can accept being a hero for saving him. The truth is more complicated. 

He lifts his green-gold eyes to look her on the face and they are filled with scorn. Brienne feels anger start to curl in her belly. At him. At herself. At a world where people like Aerys Targaryen can play with others lives. At his stupid assertion that she should not have fought for him. 

“Now look at me,” Jaime’s words are bitter and self mocking. 

He lifts his stump. Her eyes go to it. 

“A useless one handed warrior ” 

“No.” 

“I should have died.” 

The anger that had been a small, tight ball surges through her. Brienne slams her fist down on the kitchen table, rattling their plates. 

“I did not save your sorry ass so you could give up!” Her voice rises. “I didn’t drag you out of hell so Aerys could keep doing what he’s doing. Goddammit Jaime, this stops now!” 

She is breathing hard, her face flushed and Brienne realizes she is standing with her hands on her hips. Embarrassment replaces her anger. She is yelling at Jaime Lannister, The Lion, her superior. She is yelling at him as if she cares. She has forgotten her place. He is staring back at her, shocked, as if she has grown a third head. Brienne sucks in a deep breath. 

“Sir,” Brienne adds, blushing, as if calling him ‘sir’ makes up for the fact that she just ripped him a new asshole. Calling him ‘sir’ is absurd. Clearly Jaime Lannister agrees. A small smile plays across his lips. Brienne’s eyes widen as she realizes that Jaime is amused. The derision and self pity are gone. In their place is a glimpse of the cocksure Jaime Lannister she first met. 

Brienne allows herself to offer him a small smile back. 

“You ARE a beast, Tarth,” Jaime stands and takes his dish to the sink, leaving Brienne standing, staring after him. He turns to look at her. “And I am sorry.” His tone is genuine. “You saved my life. Maybe I have become a useless, old cripple but I should never have made you feel bad for doing your job. That was inconsiderate of me.” 

Brienne is mute, robbed of any response. Jaime turns to where she still stands, frozen in place and steps towards her. He reaches out with his good hand he smoothes a stray lock of hair back into place. Brienne holds back a small gasp of surprise. 

It is an intimate gesture, out of place, yet familiar. How many times had she done this to him, placed her hand on his forehead, smoothed his hair as he cried out, tried to comfort him when it seemed he could find none. It occurs to her how strange it is that they barely know each other, yet…. Their eyes lock and Jaime stares at her for a long, drawn out moment. Brienne fights the urge to look away. She swallows and realizes her mouth is dry. There is a strange tension in the air she can’t quite identify. His fingers linger on her skin, warm, real and suddenly Brienne wants to lean into that touch. 

_...What the hell…_

“Thank you.” 

Jaime’s hand drops. Brienne blinks at the sudden loss of contact. The spell is broken. Jaime turns and exits from the kitchen, leaving Brienne staring after him. 

It takes Brienne a long time to fall asleep that night. She tosses and turns, feeling hot and unsettled, unable to get comfortable. She is acutely aware of Jaime Lannister sleeping in the next room, and she wonders if she listens carefully if she might hear his breathing, just like she’d been able to in Helmand. Her eyelids grow heavy, Brienne pulls the quilt tight around her, and finally she sleeps. 

_Bullets strike the ground around her. She feels shaky. Her heart races. She has to get away, has to run. She wraps her arms around him and tries to move him, pulls with all her strength. They have to move. If they don’t move..._

_Jaime. Jaime. Please move… you must move…._

“Brienne.” 

_You will die. She screams his name but he lies there, staring at her, and then she sees the bullet found its mark. She failed…_

“Brienne!”

_Her body shakes. No, her body is being shaken. The desert around her starts to fade away and she feels a hand on her shoulder. Someone is saying her name over and over. The voice is familiar. Her mind whirls, confused…._

“BRIENNE.”

Brienne jerks awake with a sob. 

“It’s a dream. Just a dream.” 

Strong arms are around her. Jaime. He is whispering in her hair. Tears wet her face. Her body is wracked with sobs. 

“Shhhhhhh.” 

Brienne slumps forward, buries her head in his shoulder, presses her face into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, and weeps. He had died in the dream. She had tried to save him and he had died. 

“I failed,” she says, over and over. 

“No,” he whispers. Brienne wraps her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life, unable to stop the anguish she’s been holding back for months. Jaime Lannister holds her, his embrace never faltering. After what feels like forever, when the sobs have slowed, Brienne finally lifts her tear-streaked face to his and sniffs back some mucous, wishing she could get through this moment in a more dignified manner. Now that her distress has passed, mortification starts to creep in. She dares to look at Jaime Lannister. The room is dark, moonlight spilling through the one window, and Brienne cannot read his face. She feels relieved that she will be spared his mockery and starts to turn her head away when his hand comes up and his finger touches her chin lightly, stopping her. 

“You were calling my name.” 

Brienne feels her face grow hot.

“It was a mistake…”

His finger slides up her jaw and now his hand is cupping her face. Brienne’s head is still clouded from sleep and she’s not sure if what is happening is part of her dream or real. She sighs. Instead of pulling away like she should, she leans into his touch, a small, almost imperceptible shift of her head. 

Jaime exhales. His eyes search hers. 

“I dream too.” 

_They are not so different._

Brienne should pull away. She should apologize for ruining his sleep. She should tell him she’s okay. She thinks of the card from Davos that sits on her bedside table. She has a therapist. She can call him. It’s none of Jaime Lannister’s concern.

Instead she turns her head and kisses his palm. Because she dreams, and so does he, and they both know what that means. 

Jaime’s breath sucks in, a sharp, sudden sound. 

“Brienne,” his voice is gravelly. Brienne lifts her eyes to his. 

“Yes.” 

_Please_

Jaime Lannister kisses her.

~TBC~


	12. Call my Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

The first time Jaime wants Brienne Tarth she is standing in her kitchen, hands on her hips, face blazing with anger. She is tall and fierce and utterly glorious, and Jaime can see her eyes are lit with the same same stubborn determination he had seen when she told him she would die so he could live. She has always been broad and muscled, far short of beautiful but nothing less than strong and brave. Now, in the dying light of day, the last vestiges of sunlight fading into evenfall, she is arresting. 

Jaime’s cock twitches and it gives him pause. 

It’s not that no one but Cersei can make him hot and bothered. It’s that Jaime has always known his limits. No matter what set of tits were shoved in his face, he has always known the difference between the kind of carnal need his brother seems to fill with no hesitation and Cersei. Now he stares at Brienne Tarth, his cock half hard, and realizes the lines had become blurred and he hadn’t even realized it. 

Her words are harsh and true, and in the end all Jaime can do is tell her he is an inconsiderate jackass, because angry Brienne is turning him on, and it’s either placate her or kiss her. 

He goes back to the guest room and sits on the bed. The mattress squeaks and shifts under his weight. He likes the room. It’s inviting, the decor mismatched, and he knows his sister would sneer at the simplicity of Brienne’s cottage. Jaime rubs the bridge of his nose. How he wishes he could get Cersei out of his head. He picks up his phone. There is a text from Tyrion.

_Where are you?_

Jaime stares at the text. 

_Sorting things out._

It’s better than the truth, on an island off the Louisiana coast with a warrior woman who, for some reason, he has decided he wants to fuck. Jaime sighs. 

_Father is pissed._

_I’m sure he is_ Jaime pauses for a long moment, the adds, _give him my regards_.

 _Fuck you_ , Tyrion responds. 

Jaime doesn’t text back. He sets his phone on the nightstand and roots around on his duffle bag until he finds a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He strips off the clothes he’s been traveling in and shrugs them on then returns to sitting on the bed. He can hear the clink of dishes from the kitchen, the opening and closing of the refrigerator door. The cottage is old, with horizontal beadboard covering most of the walls. The rooms are small, all painted a breezy white. The walls are thin. So thin that Jaime can hear Brienne walk down the hall. He hears her go to the bathroom, run the water in the sink. He thinks for a moment he should grab his toothbrush and join her, then it might be awkward. Finally he hears her bedroom door shut with a sharp click. Jaime sits in his room for a while longer. If he strains he can hear the sound of waves. A owl hoots in the distance. His eyelids start to droop. Only then is when he gets up, grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, and heads to the bathroom himself. 

Jaime sleeps right away. Later he will ponder the miracle if this and chalk it up either to this place, or to the fact that for the first time since Helmand he wasn’t entirely alone. He was with the one person who understood and that in itself was a sort of respite that had previously seemed unattainable. 

When he sleeps he does not dream. So when the screams wake him he is not wrestling with his own demons but is lost in a blackness so deep it takes him a long groggy moment to realize the screams are her. 

_Brienne._

Jaime leaps out of bed, his heart racing. She screams again, a long, deep guttural howl so full of pain that the sound makes Jaime ache. He rushes out of his room and to the door of hers, trying to get to her, trying to help her. Before he can open the door to her bedroom she screams again and this time it is his name. 

She is back in Helmand. Jaime silently curses. 

He pushes open the door. Brienne is huddled in the middle of the bed, a quilt tangled around her. Her straw blonde hair is lit by moonlight that streams through the window. Her eyes are wild and unseeing, and Jaime knows she is still back there. Without a second thought Jaime makes his way to her, covering the distance between the door and her bed in three giant strides. He crawls into the bed, wraps his arms around her and says her name. 

“Brienne.” 

“Get up, get up.” She hisses desperately, “You have to move you must move.”

She pushes against him. He says her name again. This time more urgently. He shakes her gently, trying to get her to wake. 

She yells out his name again then wails a long ‘noooo’. She shakes in his arms, her muscles tense. 

“BRIENNE!!!” _Come back. Come back to me._ “It’s a dream. It’s just a dream…you’re not there. You’re home.”

She stills. Her eyes dart around wildly until they land on his face. He hears her whisper his name. He holds onto her, buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply and she smells like sweat. He shushes her like he might shush a baby, soothing her. Brienne fists his T-shirt with one hand then suddenly she is sagging against him, sobbing, and telling him over and over that she failed. 

The only thing Jaime can do is answer her with honesty. She did not fail. He’s not sure that Brienne Tarth has ever failed. He knows that she did not fail him. A lot of people have failed Jaime Lannister, the main person being himself, but Brienne is not on that list. 

He holds her as she sobs. Her tears soak his shirt but Jaime does not care. After what feels like hours the sobs slow and morph into choking gasps and shuddering breaths. Jaime rubs her back with the palm of his hand, awkward, clumsy circles, and his other arm encircles her waist and holds her tightly against him. Finally Brienne lifts her head and looks up at Jaime, and even in the dim moonlight he can see that her eyes are swollen, her nose running and her face is flushed. 

He wonders why he had ever thought her anything but beautiful. 

“You were calling my name.” 

She stares back at him, her thick lips slightly parted. 

“It was a mistake.” Her voice is shaky. 

Jaime realizes he can feel her breasts pressed against his chest. A slow curl of desire starts to build in his belly as he looks at her. He touches her face with a finger then cradles her jaw in his palm. Her eyes widen at this touch. 

“I dream too.” He whispers hoarsely. 

Her eyes squeeze shut. He expects she will pull away and he will drop his hand, and they will pretend nothing happened. But Brienne Tarth is full of surprises, and instead of pulling away, she turns her face into his palm and kisses it, a light touch of dry lips. 

Jaime falls apart. 

That is when he kisses her. That is when he realizes he’s been wanting to kiss her for a long time. 

Brienne startles at the touch of his lips on hers, then the surprise slips away and she relaxes into him, her mouth soft. Brienne’s hand goes to the back of his head and her fingers grip his hair as her mouth opens up to him and she deepens the kiss. Jaime groans against her lips as he feels the slide of her tongue against his. What might have been chaste or sweet becomes immediately indecent. Lust roars through Jaime. Brienne’s mouth is unpracticed and clumsy against his, which makes him want her even more. 

_She kisses nothing like Cersei._

The thought is gone as soon as it has entered his head. 

Jaime’s good hand is uncoordinated and graceless, gripping her shoulder awkwardly, sliding down her arm. It finds its way between them, skimming across the soft fabric of her T-shirt until it cups her breast. Brienne jumps at this touch but does not break their kiss or pull away. Jaime takes this as permission and swipes his thumb across the fabric covering her nipple. Brienne gasps, and suddenly he wants to hear her gasp again. He pulls away from her. Her mouth chases him, wanting more, and the innocence and greediness of this move thrills him. 

Jaime pushes his hand under the hem of her T-shirt. His slides it up along her rib cage, pushing the fabric up until it’s bunched under her armpits and around her neck. He pulls at it with his one hand until he hears a whoosh of exasperation from Brienne. 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She bursts out, pushing him away. He watches with amusement as she rips the shirt over her head and throws it away from her, then she is grabbing at him, pulling him to her and crushing her mouth to his once again. Jaime entirely forgets his desire to feel her bare breast under his palm, to swipe his thumb across her hard nipple until she moans, to bend his head and lap at it with his tongue. Instead he groans into her mouth and kisses her back. 

She scoots closer to him, so close he is almost toppling over. They are still sitting up, Brienne tangled in her covers, kissing him over and over. Jaime grabs at the covers, pulling at them with all his might, wanting them out of the way. They do not budge, and after a few moments of struggle, Brienne realizes what he is trying to do. She breaks apart from him, lifts her hips, turns a little and quickly pulls the quilt from under her. This gives Jaime a chance to look at her. Her freckled skin almost glows on the moonlight, her breasts are small and pert, nipples hard. She is all muscle but still her hips curve from her waist. She is both a warrior and a woman, an intriguing combination of hardness and softness. Her movements have a strange, ungainly grace to them. 

The covers are tossed to the floor and Brienne turns to Jaime. He realizes that she is only wearing underwear, and that her legs are long and bare. Her mouth reaches for his once again. Jaime does not allow her, because if she kisses him again he will be lost, and he has other things in mind. Jaime rises to his knees, slips his right arm around her waist and topples then both over. They end up with her sprawled beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes, dark with desire, chest rising and falling against his. She is still for a moment then her head snaps up, her mouth seeking his yet again, but Jaime pulls away. She growls and squirms against him in protest, then her protest stops abruptly. Her back arches, hips push up into his hard cock and she keens, because he has dipped his head and his mouth is on her breast. His hand slides down to her hip, glides across the thick curve of her ass, then down her long, muscular thigh. 

She is too much. 

Jaime realizes his cheeks are wet. What started as comforting Brienne is breaking him wide open. Everything that had defined him as Jaime Lannister has been ripped away: he was a Seal. Now he is a useless one handed soldier. He was Cersei’s lover. Now she cannot look at him without disgust. 

_I don’t even know who I am anymore._

He slides his hand to the inside of Brienne’s thigh. The skin is surprisingly soft there. His hand moves upwards, until he reaches the juncture where her thigh meets her hip, the edge of her practical underwear under his fingertips. He slides them under the elastic. 

She stills. Jaime lifts his face from her breast and looks at her, his fingers unmoving, a question in his eyes. He can feel that her underwear is damp and this sets his imagination alight, imagining her slick. wet cunt. 

_Fuck._

“Jaime.” Brienne’s voice is a hoarse, gravelly whisper. “I can’t. I mean, I’m not on birth control, I don’t want to get pregnant…”

Jaime swallows his disappointment. 

“Condoms?”

Brienne shakes her head.

“I didn’t expect to…”

Her voice trails off. Jaime finishes her sentence for her. 

“You didn’t expect to fuck?”

He smiles in the dark. Jaime is nothing but truthful. It’s what they were about to do. He can see Brienne blush in the moonlight. “Jaime.” She says softly, “I...I’ve never done this before.”

“Never?” 

“Never.”

Jaime has been fucking Cersei since he was fifteen. 

He huffs out a little laugh and Brienne's eyes grow wide. A look of shame creeps across her face. Jaime quickly realizes he needs to correct course. She thought he was laughing at her. Before he can say anything, Brienne starts to explain. 

“It’s not about principle.” Brienne hesitates, fumbling for words. She is blushing. “No one wanted this.” She gestures down her body, and all Jaime can think is they are utter fools, “and when I got older, there was no time….” 

“Tarth.” Jaime interrupts her awkward stammering. He smiles at her kindly, trying to tell her without words that she owes him no explanation. “You’ve been missing out.” 

And so were all the people who never gave Brienne Tarth a second glance, because while her face is freckled and broad, her legs are long, her breasts are perfect in his hands and her mouth eager and utterly delicious. Even with Cersei, with all her beauty, Jaime has never felt so utterly lost. 

Brienne sniffs. Jaime rolls off her and slides up to lay along her side. His cock is painfully hard and he is sure she can feel it pressing into her hip. He wills it to stand down. She looks away from him and he reaches his left hand to turn her face back to him. He kisses her, and the urgency is gone. In its place is something sweet and slow. His mouth moves on hers and she kisses him back. Jaime breaks apart and smooths a lock of hair off her forehead. 

“Sleep, Brienne.” Jaime’s voice is a whisper. She nods. Her face looks sad. 

“You don’t have to stay. You’ve already done to much for me….” Her words sound thick, almost sorrowful. They make Jaime ache.

“I want to.”

She sighs and turns into her side. Jaime stretches along her back and his arm goes around her waist, fitting her against him. He buries his face in the back of her neck, breathing in her scent. He closes his eyes and drifts into a dreamless sleep. 

~TBC~


	13. Fucking and Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

Brienne wakes up alone. 

Disappointment floods through her and she fights the urge to curl up under her quilt and let the tears that moisten her eyes leak out. 

What had she expected?

He had wanted her. At least at that moment. She knew that from the feel of his hard cock pressed into her thigh, from the way his mouth had voraciously devoured hers. She wanted him too, then she had brought everything to a screeching halt. 

What she’d told Jaime was true. The circumstance of her virginity was mostly due to lack of opportunity. Once she had escaped high school and the lack of imagination about beauty her peers carried, Brienne surely could have tried to date, looked for love or companionship. By then she had decided to become a Seal. There was no room in her life even for a quick hookup, let alone a relationship. 

Then Helmand happened. Brienne had been free-falling ever since. When Jaime pressed his lips to hers, a dam broke. And it was Jaime. Beautiful, broken Jaime who dreamed her same dreams. 

She is such a fool. 

Brienne swings her long legs out of bed and searches until she finds her T-shirt. She pulls it on then goes to her drawers and finds a pair of sweatpants. After she is dressed she stands in the middle of the room for a long time. It’s quiet. Finally she huffs out a small breath, screws up her courage. If she can face down bullets she can deal with Jaime Lannister. 

The house is empty. 

She could go peek in the guest room, see if his bag is still there, except there would be no point. It’s not like they owe each other anything. Brienne pads past the door of the guest room and heads into the kitchen. She pulls out a glass jar full of ground coffee from the cupboard and spoons some into her stovetop espresso maker then sets it on the stove and turns on the burner. As she waits for the familiar gurgle that tells her the coffee is ready she leans against the counter, chewing on a fingernail, lost in her thoughts. 

She remembers the doctor in the emergency room at Landstuhl, the one who had looked at her with pity when she'd asked about Jaime. She thinks about what Davos Seaworth had said during one of their sessions. Traumatic experiences can make people feel close. But it’s not a real closeness. It fades. Davos is right. None of this is real. 

Brienne thinks last night was mostly about proximity. The dream was terrifying. He had come to help her. He kissed her. She hadn’t been able to stop kissing him back. She shakes her head. It is probably for the best that Jaime is gone. Whatever was happening feels complicated. 

She starts to think about what she will tell Pod, how they will handle Targaryen, when she hears the coffee gurgle. Brienne turns off the stove then reaches towards the cupboard for a mug when she hears a voice behind her. 

“Tarth.” 

Brienne turns to find Jaime Lannister leaning in the doorway, looking at her. He’s wearing a hoodie, slim track pants and running shoes. His hair is dark and damp with sweat. He’s grinning.

_He didn’t leave._

He looks good. He looks….

_Happy._

Such a strange thing. In the middle of all this. 

“You went for a run,” Brienne says stupidly, staring at him. Brienne swallows. 

“You were sleeping,” Jaime takes a step towards her, his eyes watching her carefully.

“Thank you,” Brienne says stiffly, and she goes from feeling the fool to feeling foolish. Her face starts to warm, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“You thought I left,” Jaime’s voice has a husky edge to it. Brienne frowns and looks away from him. 

“It doesn’t matter what I thought.” 

“Brienne.” 

He comes closer. She turns her head back to look at him. 

“Every night since you pulled me out of Helmand I have dreamed that I die. Every night I try to live but I never can. Every night I wake up screaming. Until last night….”

Brienne blinks. 

“...I dreamed of you.”

Brienne’s head spins. He is even closer now. 

“You were sleeping. I went for a run.” 

“You already said that,” her voice is a squeaky whisper. 

“It was a long run.” 

Jaime smiles. Brienne should move away, should brush past him, make some excuse to flee to her room. She doesn’t. Instead she stays leaning against the counter, staring at Jaime Lannister. Waiting….

“I ran all the way into town.” 

Another step towards her. 

“To get these.” 

His hand comes up. Brienne’s eyes go to it. He is holding a box of condoms. Brienne feels her knees go weak and suddenly her cunt aches sharply. 

_Shit._

Brienne sucks in a breath. Her hands grip the counter. All the hazy lust of the night before floods back in. 

“You thought I left.”

He is so close now. His hand goes to her hip. She jumps at his touch. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Brienne repeats, her protest falling flat. Her mouth is dry as a bone. 

“Do you know why I ran all the way into town and back? Why I suffered the look I got from the cashier for buying condoms and nothing else?” 

Brienne blinks as she stares into Jaime’s gold-flecked green eyes. She knows. Her whole body knows. 

“Because we’re going to fuck?” Brienne manages to croak out dryly. Her heart is pounding so hard she is sure Jaime can hear it. A smile spreads over his handsome face. 

“Because we’re going to fuck.” 

His words are like an electric shock. He dips his head. Brienne gasps as his lips drag along her neck, his beard scratching pleasantly against her skin. Her head tips backwards. His mouth moves to her jaw, then his breath is hot against her ear. 

“Tell me you want this.” 

Brienne moans. 

“I want this. Jaime….”

_...please..._

Jaime kisses her. Brienne’s world tilts. She grips the edge of the counter, scrambling for purchase. Jaime moves closer, pinning her against the edge, until Brienne breaks the kiss and hoists herself up to sit on the counter. She wraps her long, muscular legs around him and pulls him towards her, wanting him closer. Jaime looks up at her, mouth slack, eyes dark with lust, and Brienne feels dizzy. She dips her head, crushes her mouth to his, and his mouth opens without hesitation. 

Gods, where has this been all her life.

_You’ve been missing out._

Brienne’s hands are on either side of Jaime’s head, her fingers tangling in his hair. She feels his hand slide up under her T-shirt, skate across the muscles of her abdomen, glide up the soft skin under her arm. He palms her breast. Brienne draws in a sharp sudden breath at his touch and breaks their kiss. Jaime smiles up at her. 

“No bra.” 

Brienne rolls her eyes. 

“Obviously.” 

His thumb swipes across her nipple and Brienne hisses obscenities through clenched teeth. This causes Jaime to chuckle. 

“You would think no one had ever groped your breast before.” 

“Asshole,” Brienne hisses just before his thumb swipes again. Brienne shudders. Her thighs clamp around him and suddenly she is struck by the absurdity of them making out in the kitchen like two horny teenagers. 

“Take me to bed,” she whispers. 

“You don’t want me to fuck you right here?” 

Jaime grins. Brienne’s teeth worry at her bottom lip. She is not sentimental about her virginity, but the first time she's fucked, having it be on the kitchen counter…

“Just take me to bed, you idiot.”

They have come a long way from Brienne calling him ‘Sir’. 

She feels Jaime laugh, a rumbling chuckle deep in his chest. He hooks his arms under her legs and Brienne wraps her arms more tightly around his neck as she feels him lift her off the counter. She cannot hold back a feeling of wonder that all of her muscled giantess is being held by this man, that _he_ can handle _her_. 

Jaime walks with her to her bedroom. He is strong and steady, and when Brienne dips her head and tries to kiss him over and over, he moves away and laughs at her. 

“We don’t need to end up in a pile in the hallway floor.” 

“Jaime,” Brienne whines as she buries her face in his neck. “Please.” She aches. He deposits her on her bed, her body bouncing with the force of impact, then slides down to lay along her side, propped on his right arm. His left hand slips under the waistband of her sweats and underwear, tugging at them. Brienne lifts her hips to help him. She would pull them off herself but she is too busy pulling her shirt over her head. Before she has her shirt all the way off, Jaime has tossed her pants and underwear across the room, his mouth is on her breast and his hand is slipping between her legs. 

Brienne keens at his touch. 

If she could think she might be horrified at how her hips buck and her back arches, how she tries to get closer, pressing up into him, wanting more. His fingers tease her open. She splays out her legs, giving him access. 

“Fuck, you’re wet.” 

Brienne would blush but she’s too busy moaning at the feel of his fingers. 

“Stop fucking talking.” Brienne manages to spit out. Jaime glares at her. 

“You’re insubordinate, Tarth.”

“You’re not naked.” Brienne growls back with mock indignation. 

She briefly regrets her observation because it results in Jaime’s hand leaving her aching as he rolls away from her and removes his clothes. Her regret is brief because he is back, and gloriously naked, his skin hot against hers. His hand slips back between her thighs. His fingers find her clit. Brienne arches off the bed. 

“Please, Jaime.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.”

She wants to punch him. 

His hand pulls away. Brienne moans at the loss of contact. She hears the crinkle of the condom being opened. Another crinkle followed by “Goddammit.” 

“A little help here?” 

Brienne sits up to find herself staring at Jaime Lannister’s very erect cock. 

“Good Lord.” Brienne blurts out. Jaime sends a look of mild irritation her way. 

“You do know what we’re doing, right?” He gestures down towards his groin and Brienne sees he is holding the unwrapped condom in his fingers. “It’s kind of part of the deal.”

Brienne feels her face flush. 

“Fuck off, Lannister.” 

“Nothing like that can happen if you don’t help me get this goddamn thing on. I only have one hand.” 

“Oh, fine.” Brienne huffs, feeling both irritable and mortified. 

Jaime hands her the condom and directs Brienne how to put it on. While she is not entirely sure how she has pictured her first time, she thinks getting a lesson in how to properly put in a condom while Jaime Lannister smirks in amusement was never something she had imagined as part of the experience. Yet, here they are. 

No sooner is the task done than she finds herself being pushed back into the bed as Jaime ranges up over her. He kisses her with urgency as his hand slides to her inner thigh. She spreads her legs further apart at his touch feeling open and exposed. He slots himself between her thighs, holding himself above her, and Brienne feels the tip of his cock pressing up against her entrance. With one long thrust he slides inside. Brienne’s breath stutters and she makes a long, low sound in her throat at the feel of him inside her. He stills, trembling above her as Brienne adjusts herself beneath him. 

“Move,” Brienne finally whispers, her hands sliding to his hips, urging him. Jaime pulls out then thrusts into her, hard and deep. 

“God. You feel good.”

Jaime moves inside her, his thrusts gaining speed. Brienne pushes back against him and while books treat sex as a dance she thinks it’s more like some sort of combat as they grapple with each other, The friction of his cock inside her is keeping her on the very edge of pleasure. Brienne groans in frustration. She squirms under Jaime, pushes at him, tries to ease the ache that will not stop. It’s uncoordinated and awkward. 

“Please,” Brienne begs for relief. Jaime’s unfocused eyes stare into hers. She wants to cry with frustration. Jaime dips his head, his voice is hot and rough in her ear.

“Touch yourself, goddammit Tarth. Lord knows, I can’t.”

Brienne slide a hand between them and spreads her legs even further. When her fingers find her clit she lets out an ungodly moan. Jaime pounds into her and finally they fall into a rhythm, moving together. Her hands dig into the sweat-slick skin of his back, she bends her knees further, wanting him deeper. 

_...Jaime, Jaime, Jaime…_

Brienne feels a tingling sensation build in her belly, a far off tightening of muscles. She lets out a long low whine as her body takes over then she comes hard, back arching off the bed, bucking up against Jaime, her fingers digging into his shoulder. She throws back her head and lets out a low throaty growl of pleasure as her body pulses around Jaime. 

“Brienne.”

She feels him jerk against her. Brienne pulls her hand from between them and wraps both arms around him, holding him as he shudders and shakes. Finally Jaime collapses on top of her, pressing her into the bed with his full weight, his face buried in her shoulder. 

“Holy fuck,” Jaime huffs out, his words muffled against her skin.

Brienne laughs despite the fact that having a boneless Jaime Lannister sprawled on top of her is making it hard to take in a deep breath. 

“No kidding.” 

He rolls off her and Brienne turns into her side and curls towards him. She feels limp and wrung out. 

“Sleepy,” Brienne mumbles. Jaime’s hand brushes a strand of hair off her forehead. He is pulling her quilt up over them. 

“Then sleep.” 

“It’s not even noon.” 

Jaime smiles. 

“Sign of really good sex.” 

Her eyelids grow heavy. He’s smoothing her hair now. 

“You wish,” Brienne murmurs. He pulls her closer. She feels a light kiss on her forehead. She hears him chuckle. 

“I don’t wish, Tarth. I know.” 

~TBC~


	14. Borrowed Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

The moment Jaime kisses Brienne Tarth he knows it will not end well. 

He kisses her anyway. Then he does it again and again. In the bedroom. At the small table in the kitchen, and she tastes like coffee. In the shower, water sluicing over both of them. On the porch, Brienne in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

They rise every morning, and although Jaime does his best to pull her back under the covers, Brienne resists him every time. He starts to see why she was the first woman ever to make it through Navy Seal training. She has remarkable discipline considering that he is quite sure he’s irresistible. She glares at him while she pulls on her leggings and slips on her running shoes, ignoring the fact that he is kissing the back of her neck. In the end, Jaime loses every time, failing to pull her back into bed, and he finally sighs and gets dressed. 

They run on the beach, side by side, feet hitting the sand in time, arms pumping. Her stride matches his, and every day she pushes him harder. 

Brienne Tarth does not allow him to give up. 

“Maybe you have one hand, but your legs still work. There are a lot of people who will suffer more than you, Jaime.” 

She is right. Jaime swallows his protests and works hard to keep up with the warrior woman. 

_His warrior woman._

“We need to keep in shape for when they send up back out,” she tells him one morning, her hands braced on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. They have run for what feels like hours, until the sun is high in the sky. 

_We._

Jaime swallows a bitter laugh. When she looks up, he sees her flinch at the pain in his eyes.

“Jaime. I forgot….” 

He closes the distance between them, pulls her into his arms and kisses her right there, standing on the beach. She tastes like sweat and sunscreen. Sometimes only her touch can stillthe sorrow that lurks in the background. 

His stump aches, an ugly reminder of what he has lost. 

The pain jerks him awake, sharp and aching, and in a broad stroke of irony, it is the fingers of his right hand that hurt. His jaw clenches, his lips press together as he tries not to cry out, his left hand going to clutch at his stump. Brienne wakes next to him, lifting her head and peering at him through sleep blurred eyes. 

“Jaime?” 

He cannot answer, can only say ‘it hurts’, over and over. She wraps her arms around him, holding him until the pain starts to recede, the throbbing slowly slipping into the background. When the pain has finally eased, Brienne reaches for his stump and places a soft kiss on it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jaime’s eyes grow moist with tears. 

“What is this?” he asks her one morning as they sit at the kitchen table. She shoots him a quizzical look. Brienne has made coffee in her little stovetop espresso maker and a steaming cup sits in front of him. Jaime’s muscles are deliciously tired from their morning run. He stretches his legs out as he watches her plop a bowl in front of him. 

“Oatmeal?” Her eyes are wide with false innocence. Her mouth quirks a little. This big, serious woman is actually teasing him. Jaime rolls his eyes. 

“No, this.” He waves his stump at her, once again forgetting about the absence of his hand, “I mean us. What are we?” 

Brienne’s face grows serious and Jaime sees a fleeting look of pain on her face. “I don’t know, Jaime.” Her voice has a sharpness to it he doesn’t quite understand. “What are we?”

Jaime thinks for a minute. “Lovers?” he asks, amused at the old-fashioned word. 

Brienne smiles a sad smile. Not lovers. Lovers isn’t quite right. Far less than sweethearts. Not even friends. Complicated, Jaime thinks. They are complicated. 

“Survivors,” she finally answers. “We’re survivors.” 

Jaime realizes one morning he is happy and the tricky part of Jaime’s brain starts to lie to him. It tells him he can keep this. It tells him they can stay here forever, with the blue waters of the gulf and the long sunny days. They can fuck every night, run side by side every morning, until their wounds heal and they can stop only surviving. It tells him that Aerys and Cersei don’t matter. 

Brienne glances over at him as they sit on the porch one evening, watching the light grow dim as the sun slips further below the horizon. Her face is shadowed and unreadable. She reaches her hand out. His fingers meet hers. She looks away, gazing into the distance. Jaime takes the opportunity to examine her profile, to scrutinize how her unruly hair sticks up every which way, to explore the curve of her neck, the muscles of her arms, the softness of her shoulder. She makes his breath catch. 

Jaime tells Brienne she is beautiful. 

She looks at him, then looks away, muttering “Shut up, Jaime.”

Even in the twilight he can see that she is blushing. 

“No.” Jaime will not shut up. 

Cersei knows he’s fucking someone. She calls. More than once. He declines her call every time. She texts. 

_Don’t fucking ignore me. Where the hell are you?_

_Working shit out._

_Who is she?_

He thinks of all the years he has stood aside as Cersei paraded around on Robert’s arm while fucking Jaime behind closed doors. _No more, sweet sister._ He thinks about Brienne, her blue eyes, the way she feels in his arms, how she has this way of making him forget how fucked up everything is, even for just a little while. Cersei will tell him to end it. The worst part is Jaime knows he probably will. If Cersei tells him to, he will walk away from the only peace he has known in a very long time, and it will be the stupidest decision he has ever made. Jaime closes his eyes and his chest aches at the thought of leaving. 

He doesn’t answer her text. 

Brienne senses something is wrong that night. Jaime stands at the sink, washing the dishes. She wraps her arms around his waist and presses against his backside, laying her head on his shoulder as he carefully scrubs at a plate. Jaime is still adjusting to doing things with one hand. 

“Leave them,” she whispers. “Come to bed.” 

Jaime leans back into her touch. He closes his eyes. His chest aches. He wants to tell her….

“My sister texted today.” 

Brienne stills. That’s when Jaime knows that she knows. A crush of shame surges through him. He turns to face her, eyes pleading.

“Don’t hate me.” 

Her eyes search his face. 

“I don’t,” Brienne says quietly, “Life is complicated.”

Jaime’s breath hitches. 

“All I know,” Brienne continues, her voice soft, “is that I can sleep now.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“And I know I need you. I have ever since we left Helmand.” 

_Helmand. Aerys._ Jaime pushes Targaryen to the back of his mind. He can’t….

“How did you know… about….?” Jaime asks. _Cersei_ He can’t say her name aloud. Brienne shrugs. 

“You called out for her. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

They don’t talk about Cersei again. 

The end comes on a sunny morning, one where the sky is so clear and blue that it blends into the ocean. Jaime wakes slowly, his eyes blinking in the morning light that floods the bedroom. Brienne’s arm is heavy across his waist and her face is buried in his shoulder. He shifts a little and Brienne mumbles and moves with him, but she does not wake. Her muscles twitch against him. Jaime turns his head to look at her. He takes in her pale skin, barely kissed by the sun because of all the sunscreen she slathers on every morning before they go for their run. His eyes trace over the freckles that cover her nose, the pale blond eyelashes that lay against her cheeks. 

Jaime realizes he is content, and for a moment he thinks that whatever is happening, whatever _this_ is, maybe it could work. It’s simple. He can stay here. With Brienne. 

Brienne stirs. Her eyes blink open and she stares at him staring back at her. 

“Jaime.” 

Her voice is thick with sleep. She smiles. It’s a sweet, welcoming, languid smile and it makes Jaime’s heart ache.

Jaime kisses her. 

They stay in bed. Jaime buries his face between her thighs, ignoring her hollow complaints that his beard scratches her. She clutches at his hair and calls his name as she bucks against his mouth. When she comes, her massive, muscular body shudders and Jaime smiles against her, filled with wonder that he has found someone so evenly matched in strength and size. When she finally collapses back onto the bed, her hard edges soft with the afterglow of orgasm, her eyelids heavy, Jaime stares up at her, her thigh soft against his cheek, its muscles still quivering, and stupidly says aloud what he is thinking. 

“I could stay here forever.” 

He isn’t entirely sure if he means lying between her spread thighs, or in the bed they have shared for almost two weeks, or at the cottage that has become a respite from the world, or just with her. 

He does not see the tears in her eyes. 

The end comes as a beginning. A beginning for Jaime. He starts to realize that something in him has changed. He can finally see that he has been suffering. Not just since Helmand. Long before that. 

It is only the absence of suffering that makes him realize how bad it had been before.

A small flame of hope flickers. 

Jaime places a soft kiss on the skin of her inner thigh, then crawls up Brienne and settles next to her. She takes his cock in her hand and he sucks in a sharp breath at her touch. Before long he is coming all over her hand, and although he wants to turn and curl against her, let himself sink into dreamless sleep, he gets up, makes his way to the bathroom and wets a washcloth, then returns and cleans them both. 

“Thank you,” Brienne whispers. She pulls him down onto the bed, wraps her arms around him, holds him tightly. 

“We should get up.” Jaime mumbles against her damp skin. He expects she will argue. She doesn’t. 

“Just hold me.”

She tangles her legs with his, running her foot up the inside of his calf, sliding her thigh between his, her arms winding about his waist and pulling him even closer. She places a soft kiss on his chest, another along his clavicle, a third at the curve of his shoulder. Jaime closes his eyes and succumbs to slumber.

When Jaime wakes he is alone. He lifts his head, looking for Brienne but the room is empty. He climbs out bed and heads to the shower. When he is all clean and dry, he goes back to the bedroom, pulls open the drawer if the dresser and stops, staring at his track pants neatly folded next to Brienne’s. Jaime smiles. He grabs pants. They smell like her detergent. 

_They smell like home._

Jaime pushes away the sappy thought. 

He walks into the kitchen to find Brienne sitting at the kitchen table. Jaime goes the cupboard, grabs a mug, then turns to Brienne….

Her eyes are red from crying. 

Jaime goes cold. 

“I’m sorry, Jaime.” Brienne’s voice is raw. “I can’t keep doing this. We both know we can’t stay here forever. Not when….” 

“No.” 

”Aerys Targaryen,” 

“No.”

“You said it was a trap.” 

“Brienne.” Jaime’s voice is full of warning. He knows what she is asking before she even says it. He knows his answer. It will destroy everything. He wants to kiss her or punch her, anything to stop what he knows she is about to say. 

“He has to be stopped.” 

She sets her phone on the table face up and slides it towards Jaime. He glances down at it then looks back up at her, his eyes wide. The picture on it turns his stomach. 

“And you need to be the one to stop him. They will listen to you.” 

“Where did you get that?” 

“Pod.”

Jaime curses. Podrick Payne. Aerys had taken him out. 

_Fuck._

Payne was here when he arrived. She is using him. Using him to get to Targaryen. He’s a fool. 

Jaime looks at Brienne. She stares back. 

“You used me.” Jaime’s hands clench. 

“No.” Her voice is a whisper, “It’s not like that.”

“How is it, Brienne? Tell me.”

“I was just going to ask you to help us, but you were so broken. I didn’t leave you in Helmand. I couldn’t leave you there.” 

Her eyes are pleading for his understanding. For his help. “And then…” she pauses.

“And?”

“...then I could sleep. And this...we...happened. And…” Brienne gulps. “Jaime, please.”

_Fucking Aerys._

Jaime has fooled himself that he had left him in the desert. That as long as Aerys was half a world away he wasn’t Jaime’s problem.

“You don’t understand,” Jaime says quietly. “I’m no different than him.” 

_The truth._

“I’ve killed people, hurt people, probably some innocent people.” 

Brienne’s face softens.

“You’re a Seal, Jaime. It’s the job. We all know that when we agree to do it. Targaryen isn’t doing the job. He’s murdering people.” 

“There’s a code. He’s a Seal. I’m a Seal. We don’t….”

Whatever softness was in her face slips away. Brienne’s eyes flash with sudden anger. She pushes up from the table, knocking her chair back, and stands with fists clenched, looking as if she’s about to hit him. 

“Fuck your code.” She hisses, teeth clenched. 

“Brienne.” Jaime’s voice is low. She is asking too much. 

“You knew about him, Jaime.” 

_Aerys stands above the body on the ground, Crab is going through his pockets, Jaime feels as if he will be sick._

“He sent us out to die. You let him.” 

_Helmand._

“And I paid the price,” Jaime hisses, raising him right arm. She stares at his stump. 

“And I didn’t? All I wanted was a chance. The chance I got was a trap. Now I have dreams that won’t stop. Is that not enough of a price for you? You could have stopped it, but you didn’t.” Brienne sucks in a deep breath. Her voice is low and hard. “You owe me, Jaime.” 

“Don’t do this,” Jaime pleads, wanting this to stop. He wants to go back to whatever they had been doing for the last two weeks, to beg her to let Aerys Targaryen go. 

Jaime feels as if he is being ripped apart. 

His phone vibrates, breaking the tension between them. Once. Twice. Brienne stares at him, mouth pinched tight with anger, jaw clenched. 

“Answer it.” 

“Brienne.” 

“Goddammit, Jaime, answer it.” She snaps, “There’s nothing left to say here.” 

She’s right. His chest clenches so tightly he wants to cry out from the pain. Instead, Jaime picks up his phone and looks at the screen. It’s Tyrion. He answers the call, looking at Brienne the entire time. 

“Jaime.” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s Cersei. She’s in the hospital.” 

Jaime’s world tilts. He listens to Tyrion, barely hearing what he says. Finally he hangs up and looks at Brienne. 

“I have to go.” 

“Jaime.” 

“It’s my sister…”

Brienne’s mouth clamps shut. Her face shifts and she looks stricken. Jamie can see her eyes are shining with tears. What started being about Aerys has become about something else entirely. Something unspoken. Something about them.

_Them._

“Okay,” Brienne whispers. She is crying now, her cheeks wet with tears, her pale eyelashes clumping together. He reaches up his good hand and traces a tear. 

“I don’t want it to end this way.” 

“It was always going to Jaime.” Brienne chokes out, “You knew that. So did I.” 

_~TBC~_


	15. The Imp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV

Tyrion’s head hurts. 

He slouches in the chair next to the hospital bed, trying to ignore his pounding headache. The whole place has a strange, unpleasant smell, a mix of body fluids and death. He wrinkles his nose. The machines around him whoosh and beep. Tyrion stares at his sister lying prone on the bed, her eyes closed, a tube down her throat, her face swollen. 

_Cersei would hate this._

He’d been drunk when his father called him. It wasn’t often that Tyrion wasn’t drunk. Alcohol, and occasionally cocaine, worked best to keep his demons at bay. That, and fucking, which he made a habit of doing copiously. He’d answered the phone, expecting yet another lecture from Tywin Lannister about his various failures. Instead his father told him his sister had overdosed. 

That had sobered him up. 

She’d been found unconscious in her bathtub. The press didn’t know yet. Tywin wanted him to go take care of things at the hospital, make sure there were no leaks. He couldn’t hire someone. It needed to say in the family. Tyrion had rolled his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. His father rarely did his own dirty work. 

Tyrion gently shook the shoulder of the woman sleeping deeply next to him, trying to remember her name. Daella or Doreah. He wasn't sure. The previous night was a blur, like most of Tyrion’s nights. She moaned a protest, snorted, then had buried her face into one of the expensive feather pillows that graced Tyrion’s bed. Tyrion had stared at her as she slept, trying to figure out what to do and hoping she wasn’t drooling on his pillow. Finally Tyrion gave up, rolled himself out of bed, and left her sleeping. 

When Tyrion arrived at the hospital he had found Robert in the hallway, flushed and puffy, his shirt untucked, his face reddened and sweaty. He was talking animatedly to a doctor, who was looking back at him with an unamused look on her face. Tyrion had heard the words ‘overdose’, ‘opioids’ and ‘benzodiazepines’. As Tyrion walked by, Robert started yelling that his wife was not an addict. Tyrion had ignored him and slipped unnoticed into Cersei’s room, rolling his eyes at his brother-in-law. 

Everyone knew Cersei loved her pills. Everyone, it seems, except Robert. 

That had been a few hours ago. Tyrion had been keeping watch ever since.

_Cersei would hate this._

A nurse walks into the room and checks the monitors. Tyrion watches her and smiles politely when she looks in his direction. He wonders what she thinks, the rich and powerful Cersei Lannister, overdosing. He wonders if his sister is fodder for break room gossip, the beautiful, messed up Cersei Lannister, another victim of the opioid crisis. More like a victim of herself, Tyrion thinks. 

He hadn’t been surprised when his father called him. Cersei had been spiraling out of control over the last two weeks, using booze and pills, calling Tyrion in the middle of the night, sobbying. Tyrion knew it would not end well. She had told him once during one of the phone calls, confessed what he, Jaime and Cersei never talked about, her voice slurred after too much wine. 

“He’s fucking someone else.” 

Tyrion hadn’t responded. He wasn’t sure what he could say. The last thing he wanted was to be in the middle of his brother and sister’s entirely fucked up relationship. He just listened as Cersei wept, and he was filled with sorrow for how awful this situation was. Finally he said the only thing he could think of. 

“Just call him,” Tyrion had sighed, regretting the words as soon as he said them. No response was always the best approach with Cersei. 

“He won’t answer the phone.” she sobbed.

That was a week ago. 

The nurse turns and walks out of the room. Tyrion picks up his phone. He stares at it for a long time, contemplating what he should do. She is their sister. Family. Jaime should know. Yet….

Jaime isn’t here. 

Jaime had disappeared two weeks ago. Tyrion hadn’t realized Jaime was gone until Tywin had called Tyrion asking if he’d heard from him, mentioning something about another Lannister foundation gala. That was when Tyrion realized he hadn’t heard from Jaime since he’d barged in and found his brother looking thinner than he’d ever seen him, his eyes haunted. Now Jaime was gone. For the first time in his life, Tyrion had been scared for him. 

What if Jaime had tried to hurt himself? 

Tyrion had finally faced his fear and texted Jaime. A rush of relief coursed through him when he saw the familiar three dots on his screen of Jaime replying. 

_Sorting things out._

Tyrion had frowned. Jaime was the most solitary, habitual person Tyrion had ever known. His whole life was either being on assignment or being near their dear sister. Now he was god-knows-where and with god-knows-who. 

That was a week ago.

Tyrion hits Jaime’s contact and watches as the call starts to connect. He thinks about Cersei in the hospital bed as Jaime’s phone rings. About Jaime and Cersei. 

Jaime and Cersei fucking has been a reality for Tyrion ever since he walked in on them when he was twelve years old. Cersei had screamed insults at him and threatened to throw him out the window. Jaime had begged him to keep their secret, swearing on his life that it wouldn’t happen again. In the end, Tyrion loved Jaime so Tyrion kept his secret. And Jaime and Cersei never stopped fucking. They all grew up. Cersei married. Jaime remained devoted to her. 

Sometimes Tyrion’s heart aches for his brother. 

“We don’t choose who we love,” Jaime had said one night after they’d both had a couple of beers. It was a rare moment when they actually spoke about what was going on. Tyrion had wanted to argue with Jaime, to ask him if love was worth a life where he never married, never had a family, never even got to be with the one he loved in a public way. Instead Tyrion had shrugged and took another swallow of beer, hoping the alcohol would take the edge off the truth. It was fucked up. 

He is tempted to hang up the phone, not tell Jaime, handle this himself. Then he hears Jaime’s voice. He sounds tense, almost angry. Tyrion sucks in his breath and says, bluntly, “Cersei overdosed.”

Tyrion tells him the details. Jaime listens without saying a word. Finally Tyrion asks him if he's coming. Jaime’s answer is a strangled ‘yes’. Tyrion hangs up the phone and slumps down even further. He thinks about the woman he had left sleeping in his bed and hopes she hasn’t stolen anything. The beeping and whirring around him is almost soothing. His eyelids grow heavy and he falls asleep. 

When he wakes, Jaime is sprawled in a chair next to him, staring at Cersei. Tyrion yawns. Jaime looks up as Tyrion reaches his arms up and stretches, groaning a little. 

“Jaime.” Tyrion smiles. “You got here quickly.” 

“I took the first flight out.” Jaime’s eyes don’t move from Cersei. “She’ll be okay?” 

Tyrion looks at their sister. Her chest rises and falls with every whir and hiss of the ventilator. Define okay, he thinks to himself. Has Cersei ever been okay?

“They said she’ll most likely recover.” 

It’s the best answer her can give. Jaime looks stricken. 

“Why? Why did she do this?” 

Tyrion looks at his brother. He frowns. Does he really not know? 

“Cersei said you’ve been fucking someone else. She’s been a mess.” 

Jaime buries his face in his hands. “She texted me.” His words are muffled. “I ignored her. I knew….” 

He looks up, looks at Tyrion. Jaime takes a deep breath. 

“I knew she would tell me to stop and that I would. I didn’t want to. Gods forgive me. Now this….”

His voice trails off. Tyrion looks at his brother. His golden, charmed brother. The one who has always loved him, despite his transgressions. He studies him and for the first time he can see something is different about him. It’s almost hard to define. Then it hits him. Tyrion’s brow furrows. 

“You love her.” 

Jaime glances at Cersei. “Of course I do. You know…

“No. This woman. You ignored Cersei for her….” 

It’s a wild guess. Because while Tyrion fucks casually, Jaime does not. Twenty years and Jaime has been more faithful than most husbands. Yet here he is, fucking someone else. 

Pain floods Jaime’s face. He looks as if Tyrion has hit him. 

“And look what happened….” Jaime’s voice is a wretched whisper. 

The morning light is shining through the vertical blinds that cover the window, sending stripes of sunlight across the room. Tyrion finally gets a good look at his brother. He is tanner, his beard still there but neatly trimmed. The biggest change is in his eyes. Whatever has been haunting him is no longer there. That’s when Tyrion knows his guess is right.

“You love her,” Tyrion says again. 

“No,” Jaime protests, “I love Cersei. I’ve always loved Cersei….”

Tyrion sucks in a deep breath. He has been waiting for this moment for a long time now. Then he tells Jaime the truth. 

“I know you love Cersei, Jaime. I’ve never understood it but I’ve always respected it. It’s not about loving her. It’s about whether or not that love is good for you.” 

Tyrion pauses, waits for Jaime’s anger, for him to tell Tyrion to mind his own business. Jaime says nothing. Tyrion takes his silence as permission to say what he knows needs to be said. 

“It’s not good for you. It hasn’t been for a while.” Tyrion takes in a deep breath, then he lets out the truth he’s been carrying. “You need to break from her, Jaime. You’ve needed to for a long time.” 

Jaime looks away again. They are both silent for what feels like an eternity. Tyrion’s hands twist in his lap, and he wonders if he’s pushed too far. He wonders if he will still have a brother when this is done. When Jaime finally turns back his face is a mask of indescribable sadness, his voice choked with tears. 

“I know. I’ve known for a long time.” 

Relief floods through Tyrion. Tyrion sucks in a deep breath and continues. 

“You deserve a life, Jaime. A real life. Not this thing you and Cersei have. Not hiding. Not lying...”

Tyrion sees tears on Jaime’s face. 

“I’ve loved Cersei for so long. But I’m tired, Tyrion. I want more. And it’s getting harder and harder knowing I’ll never get more. With Brienne…” 

_Brienne._

“...I’m happy.”

“And you love her.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go back, Jaime,” Tyrion says forcefully, “Go back to her. Figure it out. You’ve been tied up in our dear sister for too long. Cut those ties.” 

Jaime’s face falls. 

“It may be too late. Just before I left Brienne asked me to help her. I refused. What she’s asking me….”

“Is she an honorable and decent person?” 

“Yes.” 

“And is what she’s asking you to do the right thing?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then do it, Jaime. Let me handle Cersei. Turn around and go back to…” Tyrion suddenly realizes he has no idea where his brother has been. “Good lord, where did you disappear to anyway?” 

“Louisiana.” 

Tyrion cocks an eyebrow. He smiles a little. 

“You ran away to Louisiana?” 

Jaime nods and looks at Tyrion for a long time. Finally he speaks, his voice soft and full of emotion. 

“I would have died. If Brienne hadn’t taken me home, I would have died. I’ve been unhappy for a long time, Tyrion.” 

“I know.” 

“Losing my hand, it destroyed me.” 

Tyrion slips out of his chair as Jaime speaks. He goes to stand in front of his brother. 

“Cersei hated that I wasn’t the same, resented that I came back so broken.” 

“You are not broken.” 

Jaime opens his mouth to protest then clamps it shut. He is quiet for a long moment. 

“No,” Jaime finally says quietly, his voice strong. “For the first time in a long time I’m not.” 

Tyrion takes Jaime’s hand in his. 

“Listen to me. If you stay, you will not be able to walk away. I’ve watched you two my whole life. You love her. But this _thing_ between you has been eating away at you for a long time. So go. I will make sure she’s okay. I’ll get her the help she needs. Hell, I’ll make Robert finally act like a real husband. I’ll do that for you. So leave. Go back to Brienne, or just go far away from here. I don’t care. If you stay, Cersei will break you all over again and it will never stop.”

They are both crying. 

“And I can’t bear to watch this anymore, Jaime. I can’t…”

Tyrion’s voice fades. For once in his life, there is nothing left to say. He has finally told Jaime the truth. Will Jaime be able to listen? Jaime stares at Tyrion, his face a mass of emotions. Finally, he speaks, and Tyrion braces himself for Jaime to tell him what he always has. That he cannot leave Cersei, that he cannot choose who he loves. Jaime says none of those things. 

“Okay,” Jaime whispers. Tyrion’s eyes grow wide and he exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He throws his arms around his brother, burying his face in Jaime’s shoulder, like he has since he was a small child needing the comfort and safety of his older brother. This time it is Tyrion who offers comfort, knowing that Jaime must be hurting. They hold onto each other tightly, for a long time, saying goodbye. Finally they break apart. Tyrion looks at his brother, and they are so alike yet so different. What they share is that they love each other. 

“Take good care of her,” Jaime whispers, wiping at his eyes and sniffing a little. 

“I will,” Tyrion whispers, and it is a promise he means to keep. Cersei is spiteful, mean, self-centered and hurtful, but she is still his sister, and Tyrion still loves her. More than Cersei, he loves Jaime, and Jaime is finally setting himself free. 

~TBC~


	16. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

Brienne sits in a chair on the porch of the cottage long after Jaime has walked away. The sun rises higher in the sky and the day grows warmer. Her fingers reaching to brush away a bead of sweat that tickles along her hairline and down her temple. She stares into the distance, seeing nothing. She bites her lip and wills away the deep abiding sadness that has lodged itself in her chest. She doesn't know how she got here. 

She does not know when she began to love Jaime Lannister. 

Jaime had hesitated as he stood in the doorway of the cottage, his eyes on her face, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. Brienne had stood in the living room, her eyes locked with his, trying to find words that she no longer had. She longed to find a way to change his mind, but she knew there was nothing left to say. He was leaving and she loved him. Loving Jaime and Jaime leaving were the two simplest facts about the situation. Everything else was complicated. His sister. Aerys Targaryen. Jaime’s refusal to do the right thing. 

Brienne had wanted to beg him to stay, to not go to his sister, to stay with her. She had wanted to ask why she was not enough but she knew she would most likely not like the answer he would give. 

Instead she asked one last time for him to turn in Targaryen. She told him that more people would die, that his duty did not lie with Targaryen but with the innocent civilians he was killing. Jaime had stood before her, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his face stricken. She had implored him to do the right thing. She had told him he was better than this as unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Goddamit, Jaime. This is bigger than you and me. Bigger than any fucking code. You know this, Jaime. I know you do.”

_I know you._

Jaime had looked at her, his mouth pinched, his eyes full of pain. He studied her for a long moment and Brienne had prayed to the gods she didn’t believe in for him to change his mind. She prayed he would see that there was only one right thing to do. She prayed he would stay with her. He walked close to her, reached out his good hand, stroked her cheek with a soft touch that made her ache. That touch contained everything between them from the last two weeks, every touch, every kiss, every smile. Brienne had closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, memorizing his fingers on his skin. 

“Please.” 

It was a whisper, a prayer, a plea. 

Finally Jaime answered her, and his words had dashed all her hopes to pieces. 

“Do not ask me to betray my brothers.” 

Brienne wanted to grab him, shake him, tell him that someone who took innocent lives was not his brother. There were some things bigger than loyalty, bigger than his fucking stupid code. Instead she said nothing and watched him walk away. 

Brienne sits for hours that day, She sits unmoving until the sun slips to the horizon and the air takes on the chill of evening. Her arms prickle with goosebumps but she doesn’t go find a blanket or seek the warmth of the cottage. She cannot face her empty bed. 

_You are stronger than this._

“I’m not,” Brienne chokes out. Finally tears flow. She doubles over and sobs. She lets out all her grief. 

It is the only time she will cry for him. For them. For what might have been. 

When the tears slow and her sobs have become deep, shaking breaths, Brienne finally stands. Her legs feel weak. She aches. She stretches, swivels her neck. It cracks. She turns and stares at the empty house, it’s windows dark and lifeless. 

She must leave Jaime Lannister behind. 

Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, Brienne opens the door to the cottage. The home she’s always known is quiet and feels strangely empty without him in it. She goes to her bedroom, stands in the doorway, staring at her bed. _Their bed_. She chokes back a sob. 

She must leave Jaime Lannister behind. 

Brienne crawls into it, pulling the quilt up over, burying her face in its cool cotton fabric. She inhales deeply. It smells like him. She closes her eyes. Her limbs become leaden with sleep and she sinks into a deep slumber until she finds herself back in Helmand and wakes screaming, her hand flying out, seeking him. 

_Jaime._

She will not look back. Even if he stopped the nightmares and now they are back, she will not look back. Brienne Tarth is nothing but a warrior, and warriors survive. 

A day passes. A second. 

She wakes every morning, pulls on her clothes and her running shoes and runs along the beach. She runs until the sun is high in the sky and her eyes sting from sweat and sunscreen. Davos would tell her she’s running from her memories. Davos Seaworth can go fuck himself, Brienne thinks to herself. She pictures his card, still on her nightstand. She could call him. Instead Brienne runs faster, pushing herself until her heart races and she gasps for air. 

Jaime Lannister haunts her. No matter how long or far she runs, she cannot help but feel him next to her. His feet hitting the sand in time with hers, the sound of his breath huffing. She passes places that are now filled with him - a spot under a tree they had stopped once to rest in the shade, a log where they had sat side by side, their knees bumping. 

_Jaime_

She makes dinner and he is there, sitting at the table, watching her, and every time she turns to see his seat empty, she aches. She imagines his laugh, his smile, the way his eyes crinkle. Her chest clenches with an unwelcome pain. 

_Jaime_

She reaches for him in the night only to find his side of the bed empty. 

_Jaime_

She wakes and runs, she eats her breakfast, she sits on the porch and stares at the ocean. He is gone and it makes no difference, except with every step, with every breath, there is this pain lodged in her chest that never seems to leave her. 

She will not look back. 

The fourth day after Jaime Lannister walked away, Brienne wakes with the sun, her eyes bleary from sleep, her mouth dry, her head still full of her nightmares. She slips out of bed and pulls on clean clothes. She is about to grab her running shoes when her phone rings. She grabs it off the nightstand and stares at the face on the screen. Podrick Payne. Brienne considers not answering it. She does not want to face Pod, to have to tell him that she has failed when it comes to Jaime Lannister. Failed in more ways than he could ever imagine. Targaryen will keep killing people. Jaime will keep protecting him. Pod will still be in danger. She squeezes her eyes shut, dreading the conversation she must have, then answers the phone. 

“Brienne!” Pod blurts out at her hello. Brienne winces at the sound of his voice. 

“I tried.” Brienne says quickly, not wanting him to ask the question she’s dreading. Her voice is grim. She hates disappointing Pod. She hates that Aerys will get away with what he’s done. Suddenly Brienne knows what she must do. She is going to make this right. No matter the cost. “Lannister.” _Jaime_ Her chest clenches at his name. “Lannister won’t help us.”

_There’s a code. He’s a Seal. I’m a Seal._

“Brienne.” Pod says, but Brienne doesn’t let him speak. She knows that Pod will argue with her. She wants to tell him her plan before he can talk her out of it. 

“I can’t stand by and let this happen. It’s not right. It’s not honorable.”

“Brienne.”

“No!”

What she’s about to do will destroy her career, her dreams of being a Navy Seal. There are a lot of people who will not want this out. They will do everything in their power to destroy her, and Brienne will do everything she can to keep that from happening. If it stops Targaryen, it will save innocent lives. That alone is more important than her career. If Jaime isn’t willing to stand up to the abuse and evil that Master Chief Aerys Targaryen is wreaking in Afghanistan; if he will not demand someone stop him, then Brienne Tarth will. 

Brienne closes her eyes. She takes in a deep breath. One voice cannot be heard. Pod has been trying to get someone to listen and no one has. But if two people say the same thing…. 

“I’ll come forward with you.” 

“Brienne, I....” Pod’s voice is urgent. She cuts him off. 

“If they do not listen, we go to the press. We do whatever we need to do to be heard. Aerys Targaryen is not the hero the world thinks he is. He is no more than a common criminal. A murderer. And if we stand by, we are no better than him. We….” 

“BRIENNE!” Pod yells. Brienne clamps her mouth shut, startled at his forceful tone. “Stop talking, for god's sake. I’m trying to tell you something. He came forward. Jaime Lannister came forward. Three days ago. NCIS called me yesterday, asked me to come in for an interview. I thought you knew, I thought you were the one who convinced him….”

Tears spring to Brienne’s eyes. Her heart pounds. She can’t believe what Pod is telling her. 

_Jaime Lannister came forward._

“No,” she whispers. Her hands are shaking. 

“Yes. YES! Whatever you said to him, it worked. Brienne, they are opening an investigation.” 

Brienne closes her eyes. Relief washes over her. Jaime’s face swims in front of her. Her hand grips the phone. Her heart swells. He did the right thing. Jaime Lannister, The Lion, the man who turned his back on honor, did the right thing.

“Thank you, Pod.” Brienne’s voice is choked with tears. “I didn’t know.”

Brienne finishes the call and sets her phone back down. She stays sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in her thoughts. 

_Jaime Lannister did the right thing._

Slowly a smile spreads across Breinne’s face and she laughs into the empty room. It’s a rich, joyous sound that fills the space.

Love is funny, Brienne thinks, smiling a sad smile as she sits, thinking. She does not know when she began to love Jaime Lannsiter. Maybe it was all the way back in Helmand. Maybe it was when she held him, broken and sobbing in her arms. She is not sure when he became intertwined into the very fabric of her being. She should long for him, and in so many ways she does. She misses him. There is an empty space in her life now that he is gone, and Brienne is grateful that she at least knows her life has room for another person in it. Jaime showed her that. 

The time they had together had brought a kind of happiness that Brienne had never known. Part of her wants that happiness back. The part that wakes with his name on her lips and cries for him in the darkness of night. Jaime went to his sister, and that is a bond Brienne will never fully understand. Part of her knows that no matter how much of a life she might build with Jaime Lannister, Cersei will always be there. 

_We don’t get to choose who we love._

_Jaime Lannister did the right thing._

This fact sends a thrill through Brienne. She closes her eyes and sends thanks to Jaime, wherever he is. There will be justice. It is enough. It has to be because Brienne knows it is all she will get. 

~TBC~


	17. I am His and He is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

Aerys Targaryen makes the news. The headlines scream “Mad King” and “War Crimes”. They show Pod’s pictures from Afghanistan on the news over and over again. Every time they come on the screen she turns off the TV. 

There is congressional testimony. Brienne watches it. Jaime sits at the table with a crowd of people behind him. Brienne sees his brother. Jaime is clean shaven again, his hair short. Brienne stares at him and her chest aches. He leans forward, speaks into the microphone. His voice is strong and confident. She misses him. Her eyes grow moist. 

“Master Chief Targaryen sent us into Helmand to die,” Jaime says, “It wasn’t a suicide mission, it was attempted murder and an attempt to cover up war crimes.” 

The truth. 

The camera pans to Redwynn’s widow, her eyes red from crying. Brienne pictures his body, twisted on the ground. She closes her eyes. Tears leak out. Helmand still haunts her. It always will. 

“The world has long thought Aerys Targaryen a hero.” Jaime continues, “The real hero is Brienne Tarth. She demonstrated undeniable courage, and she saved my life.”

Brienne turns off the TV. His kindness hurts too much. 

Two weeks after Pod called she gets another call. It’s NCIS. Her investigation is closed. They have cleared her to deploy again. Relief floods her as she hangs up the phone. 

She gets her orders. North Africa. A rescue mission. Two kidnapped aid workers have been located. Brienne will be on the team that goes in to extract them. It will be a short mission, in and out, they tell her. She will get a longer deployment later. A test, Brienne thinks. 

A week later she’s on a bumpy transport plane, sitting next to a small Seal team, in full gear and clutching her gun. This isn’t Afghanistan. Brienne isn’t sidelined. She’s part of the team. Brienne’s heart is pounding. Her mouth is dry. She reminds herself that she has done this countless times in training. This is no different, except they are landing in enemy territory. 

The Seals check their gear, strap on their parachutes and one by one, jump from the plane into the blackness of the night sky. 

Once on the ground the mission goes smoothly. They are dropped two miles from where the aid workers are held. The team covers the distance quickly, the team leader setting a brisk pace. All of Brienne’s running helps her keep up. When they reach the camp, the team leader motions for Brienne to take out the heavily armed guard at the gate. She creeps up behind him, grabs him, covering his mouth with her left hand while her right, gripping her knife, cuts quickly and firmly across his throat. The guard pitches forward. Brienne struggles to hold up his weight, keeping him from making any noise. She lowers the man’s body slowly to the ground, her hands slippery with his blood. The team leader nods at her and mouths, ‘well done’. 

15 minutes later nine men lie dead in the camp and they are calling in the Chinooks to fly them out of there. Brienne closes her eyes when she hears their familiar ‘thwup thwup’, and suddenly she is back in Helmand again, trying to save Jaime. Trying to save herself. She forces herself to open her eyes, forces herself to push Helmand to the back of her mind. It’s over, she tells herself, knowing full well it’s a lie. 

She promises herself she will finally call Davos Seaworth when she gets home. Brienne Tarth needs to stop running away. She needs to learn to live with Helmand, not just keep surviving. 

On the way back to base, dirty and tired and covered with dried blood, Brienne thinks of Jaime. She pictures his face, his gold-green eyes, his smile. She leans against the wall of the transport, its vibrations rattling the bones of her skull, and remembers. 

All their days at the cottage had been sunny except one. It had started with dark angry clouds on the horizon, and Brienne had known there would be rain. She had grown up on the coast, she knew its weather. She remembers how she and Jaime had stepped onto the porch, both clad in their running gear, and Jaime had glanced at the sky then given her a doubtful look. Brienne had answered him with a smile. 

“Let’s see if we can beat it.” 

Jaime had rolled his eyes. 

They ran fast and hard that morning, Brienne setting a punishing pace. Jaime had matched it and they had pushed each other, until Brienne felt her heart pound and she struggled for breath. The air was thick and muggy, full of the kind of quiet tension that comes before a storm, and by the time they were almost to the cottage, the clouds decided to let loose torrents of rain. It soaked her through in minutes, running down her face in rivulets, turning her straw hair dark and plastering it to her head. Brienne stopped running, her chest heaving with exertion. She turned to look at Jaime who was looking back at her and grinning. 

“Don’t say it…” Brienne had started, her voice low and full of warning. “Don’t…”

Jaime grinned even more. 

“I told you so, Tarth!” He yelled over the rain, his voice tinged with laughter, 

“Jaime…”

“We should have just stayed in bed and fucked.” 

Brienne had felt her face grow warm and she lunged forward, attempting to punch Jaime Lannister in the shoulder, payment for his impudence. Instead she was thwarted and found herself being lifted off the ground, Jaime’s arms around her waist. He swung her round then dropped her down, letting her feet hit the ground. Before Brienne could protest, Jaime kissed her, a quick, perfunctory press of his lips to hers that left her stunned with its simplicity. She’d wanted to kiss him back but Jaime had grabbed her hand with his, intertwining their fingers, and they had run through the pouring rain back to the cottage. It was giddy and sweet and nothing like Brienne had ever experienced. 

That was when I loved him, Brienne realizes, lost in the memory. That very moment, soaked through by a summer storm, Jaime’s arms around her, full of happiness and nothing else. 

_That was when I loved him_

The thought rolls around her head as the plane jumps and rocks through the night. Brienne closes her eyes and for just a moment she allows herself to miss him. His touch. His laugh. How she would wake to find him studying her face. Her eyes grow moist under her closed lids and she is grateful that everyone around her is staring ahead, lost in their own thoughts. 

By the time Brienne is walking towards the cottage she has been traveling for what feels like a lifetime. From North Africa to the base in Kuwait, back to the States, onto a commercial flight. She is dog tired and ready to fall into bed. It’s early and the sun is just over the horizon, but the day is not warm yet. Brienne shivers at the morning chill. Her joints ache, her muscles hurt. She longs for a hot bath. She wearily makes her way down the wooden boardwalk that leads to the cottage, her duffel bag hitting her hip with every exhausted step. The boardwalk curves and the cottage is in sight. 

Brienne stops. 

Jaime Lannister is sitting on her porch. 

Tears spring to her eyes. Her weariness falls away. Her heart starts to pound. 

_Jaime._

She stares at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle out why he is here. She sucks in a deep breath and while she knows she should tell him to leave, but she can’t. She is too tired, too sad, too heartbroken. 

He stands when she walks up the stairs, watching her. When she reaches him, his hand reaches for her, as if she is familiar and precious, as if he has agency. Brienne steps backwards, a small step, just enough to put distance between them. Jaime gets the message. His arms drop to his side. His eyes never leave her face, but he says nothing. 

“Come in,” Brienne says tightly, digging in her pockets for her keys. She doesn’t notice her hands are trembling until she is fumbling, trying to unlock the goddamn door, trying to think, trying to ignore Jaime. Finally the door opens. Brienne drops her duffle bag onto the floor near the door. Without looking at Jaime, she heads to the kitchen. Her mind is a jumble of thoughts. She needs some space, needs to be able to think. Brienne reaches into the cupboard, pulls out the jar of ground coffee. 

“Coffee?” Jaime asks, his tone deep and rumbling, tinged with amusement. He is standing in the doorway. Brienne aches at the sound of his voice. He is so close to her. Close enough to touch. Gods, she wants to touch him, to feel his skin under her fingers, to wrap her arms around him….

_Jaime._

She knows it is ridiculous to make coffee but she needs to do something, otherwise she will fall apart. Her hands go to grip the edge of the counter as she fights to stay calm. 

“Jaime.” His name is a hoarse and strangled whisper, betraying her. “Please.” She pulls open a drawer and finds a spoon. Her hands shake as she spoons the grounds into her espresso maker. She forces herself to take in deep breaths as she puts it on the stove, but does not turn it. Instead she finally turns and fully looks at Jaime for the first time. Her blue eyes meet his green. Silence hangs between them. 

_Jaime._

He looks older. His face looks weary. But his eyes. His eyes are clear. The haunted look is gone. He is leaning against the doorframe, just like he had countless times before. He’s wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans, and he looks good. Brienne swallows. 

“I watched your testimony.” Brienne wants to wince at how awkward she sounds. Jaime looks surprised. 

“Oh.” 

“You did well.” 

“Thanks.” 

Brienne is silent again. Jaime watches her. She feels her eyes grow moist. She dances around the obvious. 

“You went to NCIS.” 

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” 

“Goddammit Brienne.” Jaime bursts out suddenly. “What are we doing here?” 

Brienne flinches a little. She ignores his outburst, glancing away from him. She looks at the stove, the counter, anything to avoid his probing eyes. Finally she gathers her courage and asks the question she’s been avoiding. The one that will rip their truth wide open. 

“Your sister? How is your sister?” 

Silence. She hears Jaime take in a deep breath. She braces herself for the truth. 

“I don’t know.” 

Brienne stills at his words, her eyes snap back to Jaime. He is watching her still. Her hands start to tremble again. She struggles to make sense of Jaime’s answer. 

“You don’t know?” Brienne echoes stupidly. Her eyes search his face, trying to sort out what he’s telling her. 

“It’s over.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. _It’s over._ Jaime takes a step towards Brienne. She stares at him, robbed of all words 

“I love someone else.” 

Brienne can’t breathe. Another memory crowds into her head. They are in the kitchen, standing in almost the same spots, Jaime is grinning and holding a box of condoms. He is telling her they are going to fuck. It is too much. Brienne feels weak and dizzy, like she might faint. She has to get away, has to….

“I can’t….” Brienne blurts out. She can’t stay here. She can’t hear this. She can’t….

The coffee never gets made. 

Brienne flees from the kitchen, pushing past Jaime with her shoulder. She flings herself into the couch, pulling her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs. The moistness inher eyes is now spilling onto her cheeks. 

Jaime follows her. He sits down next to her, close but not touching. She can feel the heat of his body, hear the sound of his breathing. Brienne stares at the bookcase across the room, afraid to look at him. Afraid of what she’ll see. 

“I’ve needed to break with Cersei a long time.” Jaime’s voice is quiet. “But she and I, we’ve been a thing since we were fifteen. For my whole adult life, she was all I knew. Then I met you.”

“No.” Brienne whispers. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs. She doesn't want this, does not want the responsibility. 

“I saw her in the hospital, you know. My brother was there. He told me I needed to be done. The day I walked out of that hospital room, I wanted to come back to you. But I knew I wasn’t ready.”

Brienne chokes back a sob.

“You told me I am a good man. I needed to be that good man. For you but really, for me.”

Her chest clenches and Brienne shuts her eyes, wanting to escape the pain. 

“So I did the work, Brienne. I turned in Aerys. I agreed to testify. I started therapy. I did it all so I could come back here. So I could come home.” 

_Home._

She is weeping now. 

“Brienne.” Jaime’s voice tinged with despair. “Look at me. Please look at me. I need you to look at me.” 

She finally looks at him. What she sees takes her breath away. The look on his face is tender, caring, desperate. 

“It’s always been you.” Jaime’s voice is soft, full of emotion. “I love you, Brienne Tarth, my Warrior Woman.” 

A harsh choking sound erupts from Brienne’s throat and suddenly she is crawling into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, and she tastes the salt of her tears. She should kiss him, should tell him she misses him, that she does not sleep as well without him, that she loves him. Instead she buries her head in the crook of his neck and sobs over and over, the soft fabric of his t-shirt bunching in her hands. 

“You did the right thing,” Brienne whispers over and over, her words muffled against his skin. 

_Aerys. Cersei. Coming home._

All the tension she’s been holding over the months since he left releases and she sags against him, pressing close, as if she could melt into him. Jaime’s hand is tangling in her hair, his lips by her ear, whispering her name over and over. She pours out her fear, grief, anger, until she feels there is nothing left, only herself, trembling and vulnerable, and Jaime. Dear, sweet Jaime. Her sobs slow. She breathes into the fabric of his shirt, and he smells like sweat, laundry detergent and Jaime. Under her cheek she feels a rumbling chuckle in his chest. Brienne lifts her head to find Jaime smiling down at her, as if she has said something funny. Brienne frowns. Jaime’s smile grows even wider. 

“Does this mean you love me too?” 

Her frown transforms into a glare and this strange feeling of wonder and hope starts to swell in her breast. She sniffs, fighting the urge to dip her head and rub her runny nose on his shirt. 

“You’re an idiot,” Brienne whispers in a voice still thick with tears. 

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

He’s right. Because there is only one answer she can give. The truth. And that truth is glorious and terrifying all at once. Brienne sucks in a deep, shaking breath. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, you’re avoiding the question?” Jaime’s eyes spark with amusement. Still an idiot. Brienne feels her heart slow, her breathing evens out and finally she speaks the reality she’s been living with since that day when the rain had soaked them and Brienne had felt happiness and nothing else. 

“Yes, I love you, Jaime Lannister.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before his mouth is on hers in a crushing, thrilling kiss. Then another and another, followed by Jaime breaking apart from her, staring at her for a moment then muttering ‘thank the gods’ before kissing her again. 

“Take me to bed,” Brienne mutters against Jaime’s persistent lips. “Our bed,” she corrects, and the words thrill her. Jaime stops kissing her and presses his forehead to hers, stares into her eyes. 

“Our bed?” 

Brienne is so lost in his eyes. She sees the future, a life with Jaime Lannister by her side, and the wonder almost overwhelms her. More tears trail down her cheeks. 

“Yes.” Brienne whispers. “Our bed.” 

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I am behind on replying to comments but I promise, I'll get there. I love these two idiots and in many ways, this is MY fix it. xoxo
> 
> There will be an epilogue. And more gratitude.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

“Six months.” 

Brienne straddles Jaime’s hips and stares down at him. They are stripped naked, sweaty, and Brienne is nothing short of annoyed at Jaime’s timing considering that her cunt is aching and wet. They’ve known she’d deploy for two weeks and he chooses now, right in the middle of fucking, to bring it up. 

“Goddamn it, you have shit timing, Lannister.” Brienne growls irritably. Jaime frowns as he stares up at her, his hand warm on her hip. 

“Six months, Brienne. My cock will miss you.” 

It might miss me right now, Brienne thinks as she briefly considers rolling off him, slipping her hand between her thighs and finishing without him, a well earned lesson about ill-timed whinging. 

“You have your hand,” she observes dryly. 

“Only my left. It’s a bit clumsy. Yours is better.” 

Jaime grins as if he is clever. Brienne rolls her eyes, then lifts her hips and slides his poor, lonely cock inside her. She rolls her hips and whatever Jaime was about to say turns into a string of almost unintelligible curses. The best way to shut him up.

* * *

“For godsake, get a hobby. Take up baking.” 

The sun is warm on her freckled shoulder and sweat trickles down the back of her neck. They’ve been running for only fifteen minutes and Jaime has mentioned how lonely he will be when she deploys no less than seven times. Finally Brienne stops, puts her hands on her hips and glares at him, resisting the urge to push her damp hair out of her eyes because it would ruin the effect. 

“Baking?” Jaime glares at her. “You’re just trying to fatten me up, Tarth,” he sighs, “I hope you know no matter how handsome I am, I’m all yours.” 

Brienne rolls her eyes. For all the life lessons, Jaime Lannister has learned, it seems zero were about humility. She doesn't care about his looks. She would take him battered, scarred and disfigured. 

“Idiot. I don’t care about love handles,” Brienne pauses then smiles wickedly. “But, I do like a nice flaky biscuit.” 

“Six months, Brienne.” Jaime moans. She smiles at him. 

“Enough time to master that flaky biscuit.”

* * *

“I’ll be lonely.” 

The sun is low on the water and the evening air is full of the music of crickets. Brienne is curled in Jaime’s lap in one of the adirondack chairs on the cottage porch. He has brought one of the blankets from the couch and pulled it over them to ward off the chill of evenfall. Brienne thinks she will never stop being thrilled at how he is big enough and strong enough to hold her like this. She lifts her head to look up at him. 

“Jesus Christ, Jaime. You could actually try to make friends. That would make you less lonely.” 

Jaime grins at her suggestion. She loves his smile, despite the fact that more often than not it is followed by him saying something annoying. This time is no different. 

“Who? Floyd at the town store? He glares at me.”

“Um, Jaime, that might be because you keep buying condoms and nothing else.”

“I need a lot. As you might know….” Jaime winks at her, as if she needs help getting what he is hinting at. She punches him in the shoulder. Hard. 

“Jaime! You do it on purpose! I asked you to buy yogurt once. You forgot. You forgot the bread too. And milk. Seems no matter what I ask you to pick up, you always return with condoms and nothing else.” 

Jaime looks sheepish. Brienne ignores him and tucks her head back into his shoulder. “I’d glare at you too, you asshole,” she mutters, mostly to herself. 

“So I think what you are saying is Floyd won’t want to be friends?” 

“You know that’s exactly what I’m saying, Jaime.”

“Because he knows we fuck a lot.” 

“JAIME!!!” Brienne tilts her head up to look at him with mock indignation for Floyd’s suffering. “I hate you.” 

Jaime kisses her then mutters ‘no you don’t’ against her lips. Brienne sighs. He’s right. Floyd might but she doesn’t.

* * *

“Promise me you’ll stay safe?”

Jaime’s head is tucked against her shoulder, his arm cradles her head, his stump rests across her bare abdomen. He is hot against her heated, sweat-slick skin. Her limbs are leaden and sleep tugs at her. Brienne would push him away but she is too wrung out to do much more than trace her fingers across the jut of his hip over and over. She wonders if she will stop feeling utterly thrilled at the feel of his bare skin under her fingertips. Can this ever grow old?

“You know the risk, Jaime.” 

They both do. 

He shifts a little and she feels the soft press of his lips against her shoulder. 

“Just be careful. Don’t be a hero.” 

His tone is light. She knows he is hiding his concern. She slides her fingers up his side, taking no small pleasure in Jaime’s almost imperceptible shiver. They find his stump, curling around it. Jaime glances at her hand then watches as she lifts the stump up and places a soft kiss on its fleshy end. She looks at him and sees his eyes are a mix of tenderness and the grief that never seems to leave him. She searches for the words to say then finally lands on them. 

“There’s already one hero here. We don’t need another.” 

Jaime looks at her with tears in his eyes.

* * *

“When do you fly out?” 

Jaime glances up from his laptop. He’s been sitting at the opposite end of the couch from her for the last thirty minutes, checking his email, and Brienne has grown bored. 

“Three days after you leave. Dayne is picking me up at the airport.” 

His retirement papers had arrived three days ago. Jaime had opened them then showed them to her, his face sad. They came at too steep a price. Brienne had felt that same grief about Helmand and all it had cost them. He had called Arthur Dayne about a job the next day. 

“So, am I supposed to whinge this much when he sends you out on assignment?”

Jaime huffs a little and rolls his eyes. Brienne smiles. Seems two can play at this game. 

“If I even get the job…and it’s a training position, not overseas. Virginia. I’m not a big shot Navy Seal like you, Tarth.” 

She sits up so she can reach him, then punches him. Jaime tries to look offended but his mouth twitches with a smile. 

“Jesus Christ.” He clutches dramatically at his shoulder. “Socking me seems to be your favorite pastime, Tarth.”

“Being an idiot seems to be yours.”

Jaime grins. Brienne realizes she has walked into a trap. 

“No. That’s not my favorite pastime.” 

“Jaime…” she warns, knowing full well he’ll ignore her. 

“Fucking you is.” 

His last word is muffled by the pillow Brienne throws in his direction.

* * *

“Leaving Cersei was never this hard.”

Brienne flinches at his sister’s name. 

They had talked about her one night, sitting on the couch, Jaime cradling Brienne in his arms, his hand smoothing her hair. She had heard the hesitancy when he said her name, and instead of protesting she had braced herself. 

The whole story had spilled from Jaime, and when he was done, his cheeks were wet with tears. Brienne had pushed back any distaste she had for the woman who had held Jaime captive for so long, reached for his face, cupped his jaw with her hand, and told him that it was okay to love Cersei. She would never deny him this. He was safe with her. Jaime had nodded and kissed her, a long, tender kiss that was prelude to nothing and rich with gratitude.

They lay like that for a long time, tangled up in each other, until Jaime had prodded her, mumbling that they could not sleep on the couch. They had walked to the bedroom, hands clasped, as if neither could not bear to lose contact. 

_Leaving Cersei was never this hard._

Brienne doesn’t know what to say. She does not want to be compared to his sister. But Cersei is part of him, part of what makes him her precious Jaime. Still, she is glad she has more pull than his former lover. Another part wishes he would never say her name again, but she would never ask that of him. 

She cannot find the words to respond, so she kisses him instead, tries to tell him without words that they will be okay. Brienne Tarth is true to her word. She will come back to him. In six months she will walk back up the boardwalk to the cottage, THEIR cottage, and he will be waiting for her. In the meantime there will be emails, Skype sessions, phone sex. 

She tells him this. Jaime grins eagerly at ‘phone sex’. He apologizes for being so needy and she sees the shadow of shame in his eyes. She smooths her fingers over the closely cropped beard he has grown since coming home, and tells him it’s okay to be needy. It’s human to need someone. He asks her if Davos told her that in one of their phone sessions. Brienne smiles. No, she lies. She can keep some things to herself. Jaime does not need to know that his Warrior Woman sometimes cries from her inadequacy and that Davos tells her the same thing she told Jaime. It’s okay to be human.

* * *

The day she leaves he holds her as if he will never let her go. He buries his face in her hair and whispers in her ear that he loves her over and over. 

“I wish you could stay.” 

Brienne sucks in a deep breath. His words make her ache. 

“This is our life, Jaime.” 

They both understand this. It doesn’t make leaving easier. They are wounded and broken. They live with their demons. They have both paid too high a price. Yet they are still warriors. They both know the truth this holds. 

They know how much they can lose. 

“Come back to me, Brienne. Grow old with me.” His voice is hot in her ear. Brienne squeezes her eyes shut. It is too much. She cannot…she cannot….

Her hands go to grip his face and she stares into his eyes. To the world he is The Lion, the handsome heir to the Lannister empire, the hero who brought down Aerys Targaryen. To Brienne he is her precious Jaime. They do not see his scars. They do not hear him cry out from his dreams. They do not hold him as he sobs for all he has lost. He is hers and she is his. It is the simplest of truths. 

His hand covers hers, his thumb strokes the thin skin of its back. He leans into her touch. Tears wet Brienne’s cheeks. She promises herself it is the last time she will cry before she returns to his arms. 

They are warriors. 

She wants to tell him this will get easier, that it is the first time that hurts the most, but she doesn't know if that would be the truth.

“Six months is such a small part of a lifetime.” Her words are meant to be comforting. She can see they hold no comfort for Jaime. 

“Just come back to me.”

There is only one answer. 

“Always.”

Someday it will be forever. When she has grown weary and tired and she is ready to stay home and grow old with him, she will never leave. That is not today. She is Brienne Tarth, the first woman to become a Navy Seal. She has so much more to do in this world. She has the love of her life by her side. She has fought unimaginable battles and survived. She is the Warrior Woman. 

“It’s time, Jaime.” Her words are heavy with truth. He nods. 

“I know.” 

She releases him and the moment they are no longer touching, she aches to have him in her arms again. Instead she picks up her duffle bag and hoists it onto her shoulder. She looks at him, and it is not the first time she cannot believe he is there. With her. His gold-green eyes meet her blue. Brienne’s chest swells with so much emotion she can hardly stand it. She feels her eyes grow wet. Then he smiles at her, a crooked, fractious grin that she knows indicates nothing good when it comes to Jaime Lannister. It still does not reach his eyes. There is only grief in them. 

“It’s only six months, Tarth. Quit your whinging.” 

Brienne can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face. Her brave Jaime. 

“You’re an idiot, Lannister.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper. His smile grows more amused and finally reaches his eyes.

“If I am, I’m your idiot.” 

“Always.” 

_Forever._

Brienne turns and starts down the boardwalk away from the cottage. Her duffle bag bumps her hip with every step. She does not look back but she knows that Jaime watches her until he can no longer see her. She knows he will be there when she returns. She knows he is hers. 

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much gratitude for all that have been reading this. It is DONE. Hope you enjoyed these sweet, broken idiots as much as I did. 
> 
> A few mentions. I based this off a true story about alleged war crimes committed by a Navy Seal. I believe his trial started a few days ago. [Here](https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/23/us/navy-seals-crimes-of-war.html) is an article from the New York Times for reference. There is also a podcast about this from the NYT, which can be found [here](https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-daily/id1200361736?i=1000436424784). Both are fascinating and about a clash of cultures. The outcome will be interesting. 
> 
> I must again thank my beta, **Leafeylocket**. She is lovely. I'm glad to have her. She said the epilogue is good. Her word is gold. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, kudos and hits. I haven't written that much JB and it's been fun getting to know them. xoxo SB


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